The Four Elements
by N1ghtshade
Summary: A high fantasy action-adventure based loosely around the plot of Nanatsu no Taizai, using a different set of characters and events.
1. Foreword

I don't really know how to explain this. Normally, my writing is original work, and I tend to write dark or gothic fantasy. But recently I've grown tired of crying myself to sleep every time one of my favourite characters dies, and this desire for something different just happened to coincide with my watching Nanatsu no Taizai. Having seen it, I decided that I wanted to write something similar.

This is essentially a shorter (standard novel length, rather than an epic or saga) story that I'm writing to take an emotional break from the darker stuff. As such, I've spent a lot less time covering every aspect of it than I normally would, and have instead used the bones of the Nanatsu plot and setting as a basis. The basic premise- the gathering of a group of outlawed heroes who must fight to stop a demonic apocalypse- is the same. Certain scenes and characters, such as Elizabeth turning up at the tavern in the first and second chapters, are exactly the same. Others, such as the rescue of Deverish (which takes heavy inspiration from the recovery of Ban in Nanatsu) are based on the series but not quite the same. And other parts are completely and vastly different. Hence I really don't know whether to class this as original of fanfiction, as it seems to somehow straddle the border. But hey, try the first chapter or so, and you should know from that whether or not it's the kind of thing you'd like.

Ignoring the uncertain nature of the story, I've still been putting a lot of time and effort into this, and it should be good fun both to write and to read. I'm planning to have chapters of around 2-3000 words, with a new one released every week, although I can't 100% promise this as a lot of things are going on right now. I can however promise to respond to all feedback I receive, and it's all very much appreciated. I know it can seem like a lot of effort, and a lazy bum like me can completely sympathise, but please consider leaving a review if you enjoy it- or, just as importantly, if you don't.

Other than that, enjoy.


	2. Unwanted Responsibilities

Jence was ill. Not a particularly unusual occurrence- he'd led a rather 'eventful' life, and was teetering on the cusp of his sixth decade- but this time it was different. His latest in a string of partners had left, coming to the same conclusion as the ones before her; that he was a good-for-nothing old man with no more to offer than debts and a worn down tavern. And while both the sickness and deserting mistresses were fairly routine events, they rarely happened at the same time.

With nobody else around to do it, the running of the tavern had fallen to Lamb and, just like all the patrons, he hated it. He couldn't cook the meat without burning it or leaving it raw. He couldn't carry the drinks without spilling them on the way. He couldn't pass a gambling table without doing his futile utmost to join the game. Nobody held it against him- the customers knew well enough that he didn't want this any more than them- but it was hard not to get irritated at a boy who seemingly couldn't tie his own shoelaces without somebody to hold him steady.

Lamb had only been in charge of the Boar's Head for a few days, but he was already convinced he'd rather be anywhere else. Normally he was just here to break up fights and boot out those too drunk to leave, and that was fine and dandy. He'd have most of the day to himself; free to chat up girls, steal from the most inebriated patrons, and tell the god-awful jokes he had a reputation for- which, in his opinion, was exactly what a sixteen-year-old should be doing. But slaving away to actually run the place, for no thanks or payment, was his idea of a living hell.

Idly musing on the unfairness of the situation, he skipped over to a table where four men were playing at dice, dumping their ale unceremoniously on the scratched and beaten wood of the table. "There y'go, lads." A few muffle grunts greeted him in reply, but none bothered to look up from their game. He stood there for a few seconds, head cocked, before making up his mind, pulling up a chair, and setting himself down beside them. "Got room for another?"

One of the men snorted. "Don't you have a tavern to run?"

Lamb dismissed the question with a shake of the head, trying and failing to brush his mop of brown hair out of his eyes. "I do food an' drinks. The old man wants more, he can get stuffed."

"Charming," muttered another of the men, who Lamb ignored.

"So, you got a spot?"

The first man- a regular customer, but one Lamb had never bothered learning the name of- eyed him derisively up and down. "Come back when you can grow a beard."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "That's a beard? Looks like some kinda dead animal."

The first man rose to his feet, bristling with outrage as the other three stifled laughter. "You looking for a fight, kid?"

"Maybe I am," the five foot teenager squared up to him, "Arm wrestle. Me an' you. I win, I play a round."

"Don't be stupid," the man grunted, "there's not a man here who'd take you up on that offer."

"Why? You scared of a kid?"

"No. But I'm not an idiot. And you can't goad me into becoming one."

Everybody knew the story of Matthias Lamb. Nearly ten years ago Jence had got up one morning, opened the door to find two remarkable things. The first was a wooden statue of an armoured knight, nearly seven feet tall and carved from solid oak. The second was a little boy, snoring soundly and wrapped in a tattered woollen blanket. In an uncharacteristic act of charity he claimed to have regretted ever since, Jence took the child under his wing, giving him a food and a roof in exchange for help in the tavern. He named him Matthias Lamb after his own father, and the blanket the child had worn, and the boy became a regular in the tavern.

At first the boy seemed useless, and Jence had despaired of ever finding some way he might prove helpful. But then one day, a year after he had taken him in, Jence once again awoke and went downstairs to the tavern to find, to his surprise, the statue that had since that day stood guard outside the entrance had suddenly appeared beside the inside doorway. When asked about it Lamb claimed he had moved it himself, which Jence refused to believe; until he watched- with his own eyes- the little boy pick it up as though it weighed nothing at all.

Lamb, it transpired, was as far as they could tell stronger than any man alive. It was clearly a strength that originated from magic, but nobody knew how or why. The boy never recovered his memories of before he was taken in, and none of the so-called 'mages' that occasionally stopped by were able to discern the source, so eventually everyone gave up thinking about it. Lamb was Lamb, and that was that. His role became that of a peacekeeper, breaking up fights and getting rid of troublesome customers, and it didn't take long for people to start taking the child seriously. Even at ten years old he had a grip that could break an arm, and could take on a grown man with both hands behind his back. Hence, none of the regulars was keen on challenging him to a contest of strength.

Luckily for him, they weren't all regulars.

The second man stood, grinning to himself. "What's the problem, Carle? I knew you were weak, but this is just sad."

"Shut up," the first man snapped through gritted teeth, "you don't know crap. It's not like you'd do any better."

"Oh, really?" The second man stepped forward, rolling up the sleeve on his right arm. "Carle's always been a coward. You still want to go, kid?"

Lamb smiled. "Course."

At a gesture, the gambling table was swept clear, and the two sat opposite each other, locking hands and resting their elbows on the battered surface. The man looked across at him. "You've got spirit. I like that."

Lamb cockily locked gazes with him. "You too."

A lot of the patrons walked over, crowding round to watch the contest, but none of the regulars bothered getting up. It was an ant against a giant- a labourer, tall and burly, against a short and clumsy teenager. Lamb's arm was well honed, certainly not weak, but the man's was a veritable mountain of muscle. It was easy for those who didn't know better to think the boy didn't have a hope.

Then the word went through the small crowd. Three. Two. One. Now!

Their opposing faces hardened. The man's arm bulged, swelling ogrishly as the muscles beneath ground into action, and Lamb's set, hard as iron, muscles rippling as they fought. Neither moved. The labourer's eyes widened in surprise. Lamb's narrowed in challenge. A second passed. Two. At first it seemed neither would budge an inch, but ever so slowly, Lamb began to slip. It was only a hair's breadth to begin with, but soon that grew into five, ten, and then his arm was halfway to the table.

The man's face reddened, sweat beginning to gather, beads of it rolling down his cheeks. He grunted wordlessly, subconsciously, and Lamb did the same. They carried on in their contest, Lamb losing more and more ground, but at a slower and slower pace. His arm continued to fall, but not by quite as much. After what seemed like an age his clenched fist reached a few inches off the table; but it got no further.

The man opposite him gasped in pain and disbelief. He'd gotten so far- this should be the easiest bit, the final stretch- but now he couldn't make the slightest bit of headway. It was as though the boy's arm was made of steel. Sweat ran freely down his beetroot face, and his arm began to twitch. Only a little, but a little was all that was needed. The tiniest hint of a smile twitched on Lamb's set face. Five seconds passed. The labourer's arm started quivering, beginning to give under the strain. Ten seconds and it was shaking freely, oxygen-starved muscles tearing under the force. Then, all of a sudden, his arm went limp. Lamb grinned triumphantly, and without a second's thought brought it back to the top of its arc, slamming it down hard against the other side of the table

The boy leaped clear of his chair, shaking the stress out of his arm, wiping imaginary sweat off his brow as the exhausted worker slumped defeated in his seat. A moment's stunned silence, and then the room broke into exhilarated cheering. Nearly a minute had passed since the contest began, the tensest and most extraordinary they'd ever seen. And at the end of the day, everybody loved an underdog.

Lamb walked over to the man, who watched him approach with both respect and a little fear, then stopped, looking him straight in the eyes. Only the two of them knew what had really happened- right when he had been about to lose, Lamb had seemingly doubled in strength, stopping the other man in his tracks with pathetic ease and choosing to bring about a stalemate when he could just easily have won there and then. With his monstrous strength, he could have finished the contest the instant it began, but had opted to prolong it for the crowd. But then, as spontaneously as it had come about, the moments was broken. He held out his hand, the beaten man shook it, and the two reached an unspoken agreement never to mention what had gone on.

"Now," Lamb said, turning to Carle, "you owe a game."

"Fine," he muttered, having already predicted the inevitable outcome of the bout, "five dice, call a number, closest wins. You've got one round."

The four men sat around the table, and Lamb joined them. Carle rolled the dice around in his hand, while the other four threw coppers into the centre, before beginning the calls.

"Twenty-one."

"Eighteen."

"Seventeen."

Lamb paused, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Two ones, a three, a five an' a six."

Carle stopped. His eyes narrowed, but he didn't comment on it. "Sixteen, then." He chucked the dice onto the table where they bounced across the surface, time seeming to stop as they came gradually as a halt.

Time stopped altogether, and four pairs of eyes widened as one.

Bursting into spontaneous laughter, Lamb snatched the coins with practised ease, racing away through the tavern and exercising an uncharacteristic level of agility as he vaulted to safety behind the bar.

Behind him came outraged spluttering. "You cheated! You cheated, you son of a-"

"Can't prove nothing," Lamb called back, "I mighta just been lucky."

"Lucky my arse," Carle snapped viciously as he strode over to the bar, "you cheated. I don't know how but you cheated, you little brat."

The boy set his arms down on the counter top, casually resting his chin on them. "That's a nasty accusation. I run this place, an' you say I'm cheating?"

"Just try it," the bigger man reached for his belt and pulled out an enormous gutting knife, "Just bloody try playing innocent. We want our money back."

Lamb whistled nonchalantly, looking the blade over. "Compensating?"

The man swore, swinging at his head, and Lamb caught him at the wrist, all traces of humour gone in an instant. He tightened his grip, enough to make the other man cry out, and when he spoke again he sounded much more like the peacekeeper he was hired to be. "I'm gonna say your arm slipped. Cus' you know what I've got t'do to anyone starting fights." He tightened his grip again and Carle's face crumpled, the blade falling from his hand. "Am I right?"

"Fine! Yes!" Carle snarled resentfully through gritted teeth. "I slipped! That's all!"

"Great," Lamb let him free, "glad t'hear it."

The big man spat on the floor, turning his back and stalking angrily out of the tavern, friends following in his footsteps. Lamb sighed to himself, sinking dejectedly back against the wall as talk in the tense room gradually began to rise once more. He'd gone too far, again. Carle wouldn't be coming back. That was the second regular in the past week he'd managed to lose. But it was just so boring here- he always ended up doing stupid stuff like that, and every now and again it went a little too far. He really wasn't cut out for this job.

He pulled one of the copper pieces out of his pocket, rubbing it idly between his finger and thumb, then flipping it up in the air, catching it, flipping it again. This just felt cheap. It wasn't really like he needed the money anyway. He spent most of his life shut in here, had no friends to spend it with, and had never really cared about possessions anyway. He'd just had a desire to outwit somebody, but now that he had he felt rotten. What an idiot he was.

Busy trying not to imagine what Jence would say when he found out, it took him a long time to pick up on the atmosphere. In the time he'd spent thinking, the room had gone completely, deadly, silent. Instantly on edge and prepared for the worst, he picked up on a silhouette in the doorway, upon which everyone's attention was fixed. Praying to god it wasn't the men he'd sent off, back with friends to start something, he slowly turned to look at the figure.

And found himself gazing into the visor of a plate-armoured Warden.


	3. Uninvited Guests

Uninvited Guests

Lamb's first feeling was one of relief- he didn't have to deal with any vengeful workers- but this was quickly replaced by dread and hate. Wardens. The tyrannical 'protectors' of the human world. Once upon a time they might have been warriors of justice, knights of honour and compassion, but they'd been given too much power. That, coupled with their obsession over their so-called 'prophecy', had served to turn them into something much darker. Nowadays they were little more than superpowered thugs, government dogs that would happily tear a community apart if it meant furthering their aims.

He might not have to deal with any mobs, but having a Warden here could be just as bad; if not worse. Not all of the patrons had such scrupulous morals as him, and if one of them had gotten on the wrong side of a Warden it wasn't just their problem; it had become the problem of everyone here. Lamb wouldn't have been surprised if the Warden tore the whole place down enacting his revenge.

The tension kept rising. The Warden said nothing, just stood there in the doorway, blotting out the sunlight. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. If it wasn't defused, and fast, someone was going to snap and, do something stupid and irreversible.

Lamb vaulted back over the counter, doing his best to remain his usual carefree self. "Salutations, good sir. Art thou here to quench thy thirst? Or mayhaps to satisfy thy hungry stomach?" The armoured man made no response, nor did he move in any way. "I grant thee," Lamb blundered on desperately, "we may not be the greatest of establishments, but our doors are always open to valiant warriors such as thee..."

The man took a single step, moving out of the shadows, and Lamb trailed off into nothingness. A suit of shining steel armour, unblemished, impregnable. No sword- a Warden might not need one- but a dagger sheathed on his left hip. A single giant ruby, the size of his fist, pulsed away threateningly in the centre of the breastplate.

Slowly, inevitably, the man raised his right arm, reaching out for the boy, silent as the grave. Lamb's mouth went dry and he took an inadvertent step backwards. The gauntleted fingers stretched towards his throat and he took another panicked step, finding himself trapped with his back to the bar. The Warden took another step towards him, painstaking, prolonging the moment.

Backed into a corner, Lamb found, much to his surprise and for the first time in his life, that he was angry. Not just irritated, not just resentful, but outright angry. His fists began to clench, his jaw began to tighten. The more receptive occupants of the room picked up on the change, racing out the exit before they could get caught in the clash of titans.

The Warden took another step; the cornered boy bristled. "Fine! You want some?!" The Warden took one last step, grasping hand brushing against Lamb's throat, and he slapped it aside. "I'll crush-"

The Warden fell over.

Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. They simply froze, stunned, struggling vainly to comprehend what had just happened. Lamb took the opportunity to retreat to the other end of the room, anger rapidly fading with the presentation of an escape route. He remained there. Waited for the Warden to get up. They didn't move. Nothing happened. Another couple of minutes, and he came to the conclusion that nothing was going to.

The remaining patrons had cleared out long ago. The Warden was unconscious, or at least incapacitated. Tentatively, drawn by curiosity, Lamb approached. The man still wasn't moving so, against his better judgement, Lamb reached out with his foot and prodded him. No response. He'd been right; the man really was unconscious.

Slightly calmer but still not quite at ease, Lamb pulled up a chair, sitting beside the prone knight. This was a problem. If he left the man here and ran for it, he'd still have to face him when he got back. Dumping him elsewhere in the city might work, but it really depended upon how injured the warrior was- if he could remember coming here, he'd hardly be pleased to find he'd been abandoned. It would probably just make things worse.

At the same time, Lamb had no idea how to treat him if he did keep him here. How were you supposed to deal with a wounded knight? Would it be disrespectful to remove his armour? If he didn't do that, how was he supposed to look after him? Would he be expected to pay for a healer to come here? Would he be punished if he didn't?

Lamb spent a second wondering whether he should tell Jence, but no longer. It would only stress the old man out, and when the tavern master was stressed Lamb became the target for his emotions. Besides, it wasn't like he'd know any more about this than his peacekeeper. If anything, Lamb decided, dealing with this kind was exactly what he wasn't paid for.

He knelt down, getting his arms under the suit of armour to lift it off the floor and immediately sensing something was wrong. Most things felt light to Lamb, but even so this person was a featherweight. They were nowhere near as heavy as someone their size should be, but there was more to it than that. It was clear from the way the plate rolled loosely in his arms that the fit for the suit was all wrong. Whoever was inside, this armour didn't belong to them. Which meant- the cogs in his mind slowly ground away- this person might not even be a Warden.

He set them down on their back, none too gently, on the bar. Then, no longer worried about the possible consequences, he removed the helmet. And whistled softly to himself.

Wrong for the second time- not only was this person not a Warden, but she wasn't even a man. A young girl, perhaps his age, perhaps a year or so older. Naturally pale skin, but reddened from exhaustion. Long blonde hair, bordering on silver. A pretty face. Much better looking than most of the females they got here.

Working downwards and suddenly taking a lot more care, he began to remove the plates of armour. She was dressed, for rather impractical reasons which he couldn't understand, only in her underwear- a fact which under normal circumstances might have been rather fixating, except that she was covered in blood. Her body was covered head-to-toe in deep, freely bleeding lacerations, and her skin had been rubbed raw by the armour. Looking at the state of her, it was small wonder she'd passed out like that.

Alone, for once, in the presence of a girl his age, and yet rather than trying anything he'd found himself forced to look after her. She couldn't stay unconscious forever, and she'd probably be very grateful to him when she was better, but that was little consolation- and it was assuming that he was able to save her. His knowledge of healing didn't really extend beyond hangovers.

For the second time he considered telling Jence about this turn of events, and for the second time dismissed the idea. Warden or refugee, it really didn't matter. The result would be the same. And besides, the girl was his find.

Careful not to jolt her too much, he lifted her in his arms like a baby, carrying her up the stairs and into his room. He laid her down in his bed, tucking the blankets up to her chin and making sure she wouldn't get too cold. Jence never entered his room without permission, so she should be safe there as long as she didn't make too much noise. And besides, there was no way she'd recover her senses by the time he returned.

That done, he locked the door just to be sure, then pulled out one of his new coins to roll across his knuckles. Clothes and shoes. What do you know- he might actually need the money after all.

* * *

It didn't take him long, after leaving the tavern, to realise something was wrong. Not overtly so, but his time as a peacekeeper had taught him very well how to read moods, and the streets weren't right. The vendors were still crying their wares, the urchins were still an annoyance, and the layabouts were still... laying about. But there was an abnormal chill in the air. The whole place was on edge.

He ignored the atmosphere, pressing on towards the marketplace to buy clothes from an elderly clothier he knew from Jence's errands.

He smiled to the man, nodding a greeting. "How's work?"

The clothier scowled good-naturedly. "Slow as always. I swear I only get a dozen customers here."

"A day?"

"A month. And half of them are the old man's mistresses." They shared a short laugh at that. "So what are you after today?"

"Kinda the same, 'cept for a girl."

The clothier raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me he's into that kind of thing?"

"Hell, no. A friend of mine."

"Hah," the man snorted, "I'll believe that when I see it."

"Bitter, old man?"

"Who are you calling old? You want an outfit or not?"

"Yeah, whatever. You've got one, right?"

"What kind of question is that? Give me a minute to find it."

The man dragged a pile of clothes down from a shelf, rooting through it and dumping them carelessly on the ground. His clothes weren't exactly the best quality, but they were cheap, and he was a friend of Jence's. And, more importantly right now, he was a gossip.

Lamb leaned in conspiratorially. "So..."

The old man glanced up. "So?"

"This place feels off. Somethin' I should know about?"

"What," the clothier glanced up in surprise, "you mean you don't know?"

"Know what, exactly?"

"About the Wardens."

"What about them?"

"Apparently..." his voice lowered to a hush, "they've started killing each other."

"Why?"

"Damned if I know. But apparently one of them went rogue, attacked another then fled."

"I don't get it. Why's everyone here so bothered?"

"Well that's the thing; apparently this is where they ran to." He pulled out a blouse, skirt and pair of stockings, dumping them in the boy's arms. "Have a nice day. And try not to get in any trouble."

* * *

 _Try not to get in any trouble._ Spoken in jest, but those words hit a little too close to the mark. A traitorous Warden, killing another and running here to escape. A wounded girl, dressed in a Warden's armour, passing out on his doorstep. There was no way that could be a coincidence. He hadn't thought she was a Warden, because the armour certainly hadn't been hers; but what if she'd worn it to blend in, to pretend to be one of the loyal ones?

He shook his head. He refused to believe that. Such a pretty girl could never be a Warden. Hell, a female Warden would have to be an ogress, a disgrace to her gender. She'd be even worse than a male one.

Despite how he often acted, Lamb wasn't an idiot. Wherever the clothier's story had come from, it sure as hell wasn't a reliable one. A rumour like that could only have been spread by the Wardens themselves- and if that was true, and they'd spread a lie, it was because they were hiding something.

Which meant they were dangerous.

Reaching his bedroom, he managed to balance the clothes- along with a pair of boots he'd bought with Jence's money- in his left arm, whilst fishing the key out with his right. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, shut it behind him, and then noticed two things at one.

Firstly, the bed was empty.

Secondly, he had a knife to his throat.

Chuckling at the absurdity of the situation, he found himself unable to muster the slightest bit of fear. "Honey," he muttered drily, "I'm home."

The knife pressed harder against his neck. "Who are you and what do you want with me?"

"I'm your guardian angel. I want to guard you."

The blade pressed even harder, enough to actually sting. "Very funny. Now give me a reason not to kill you now."

"Okay..." he thought about that for a moment. "Killing angels is bad luck."

The knife disappeared and he was shoved in the small of the back, stumbling obligingly across the room. He turned around to face the girl, hands on his hips. She stood between him and the door, dagger held shakily towards him in what was probably intended to be a threatening manner. But in her state, battered and bloodied and barely able to stand, it just looked pitiful. Even the normally cocky Lamb found himself feeling sorry for her.

"I won't let you take me," she growled, "You'll never have me."

"That's a crying shame. You're just my type."

"Do you enjoy this?" Her face hardened, looking torn between screaming and crying. "Is it fun, degrading me?"

"Y'know, I've no idea-"

"Well good for you! But I won't let you take me!" She reversed her grip on the knife, blade pointing at her heart. "I'd rather die that give myself to a Warden!"

Lamb crossed the room in a heartbeat, slapping the dagger out of her hand before she could do anything stupid with it. "Are you thick?"

Her face wavered. "What?"

"Do I look like a Warden to you?"

"You're saying... you aren't?"

He shrugged. "Far as I can tell. Can't you remember how you got here?"

"Should I?"

"Damn." He frowned. "I guess I've got to explain. You turned up running from the Wardens. I looked after you, you fell in love with me, and you swore you'd be mine forever an' ever."

Her mask fell away and she slumped to the floor, laughing at the poor joke through relief and exhaustion. "You really aren't a Warden, are you?"

"Course not." He swept his hair from his eyes, pretending not to notice it falling straight back into place. "Ain't no Warden alive with a face this handsome."

"Then," she paused, "if you aren't a Warden, why am I here?"

He shrugged again. "You just turned up and fell asleep."

"I... fell asleep?"

"Sort of."

Her face fell. "I'm sorry. I thought you were going to lock me up again."

"Again?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Fair enough. You sure you're comfortable like that?"

"Like...?" She looked down, seemingly noticing for the first time that she was half naked. "Oh."

She attempted to leap to her feet and snatch the clothes from his hands, but her legs gave way the moment she put weigh on them. Lamb stepped forward to catch her, causing her to gasp as a number of her injuries reopened, then set her down on the bed.

"Wow," he raised an eyebrow, "you really are slow."

"Shut up."

He handed her the outfit, averting his eyes as she changed, although he didn't see why he had to do so. It was hardly like he could see any more. Maybe she might not mind if he watched...

"What is this?" Her voice broke him from his thoughts.

"What's what?"

"Why have you dressed me like... like a..."

"Oh, that." He turned round to face her. A short pink skirt, barely reaching her legs. A low cut pink top which left very little to the imagination. Black see-through stockings, and black leather boots. "All I could find."

A pause. "That's a lie, isn't it?"

"Yeah. But I'm lazy, and it's what the old man usually gets."

The girl sighed, obviously fighting to keep her cool. "I guess I should thank you. I'd probably be dead right now if you hadn't picked me up."

"Told you," Lamb muttered, "guardian angel."

"Then I'll be going."

She started to limp towards the door, but he stood in her path, arms crossed. "You'll be what?"

"You've done enough. If I stay here, you'll be in danger too."

"So you're just gonna walk out on me? Blood an' cuts an' all?"

"I won't let you get hurt for my sake."

He stood there for a moment more before getting out of her way. "Fine. Least tell me your name, though."

"Elizabeth. Elizabeth Gen."

"Matthias Lamb. That's Mattie or Lamb. Nice t'meet'ya, Liz."

"Yes," she smiled shakily, "you too."

She started walking again, but just as she stumbled through the doorway he caught her by the arm. "One last thing." He punched out with his right fist, hitting her square on the jaw and catching her as she fell. "Leave the Wardens to me."

Then he carried her over to the bed, laying her down and tucking her in like before. Maybe now she'd actually stay asleep. Then, shaking his head at her naiveté, he headed back downstairs and prepared to close the tavern for a while. It looked like he'd found himself a really stupid one this time.


	4. Unpleasant Visitors

Unpleasant Visitors

Liz hadn't been happy when she woke up. Lamb had expected she'd be grateful to him for saving her life, but oh, no- she just couldn't keep her mouth shut about how he'd hit a girl, or how irresponsible he'd been to endanger himself. She didn't seem to understand that she'd be dead if he hadn't stepped in, or if she did she didn't care, and was even stupider than he'd realised.

Putting aside her impossible character and sluggish mind, Lamb had found that she wasn't a bad person to have around. She complained far too much, and she was a bit of a simpleton, but once you got over those points she could have been a lot worse. A lot softer than she acted, and in the quieter moments it shone through.

In the week since he'd taken her in, her wounds had faded to faint scars, her skin had turned a much healthier colour, and she'd gained a comfortable amount of flesh on her bones. He'd wondered at first whether to question her abnormal recovery, but had decided it would be hypocritical coming from someone with his abilities. She hadn't really told him much of her story, but he was fine with that. She'd probably elaborate on it when she felt comfortable.

She'd been imprisoned by the Wardens, who had decided her 'powers' (which, in the same way as his own, even she didn't understand) made her a threat to the human world. The lacerations were apparently their attempts to extract the ability, although they looked more like sadistic entertainment to Lamb; who, in a rare fit of thoughtfulness, decided not to mention his observations.

Since she'd been imprisoned at the command of the Lord Warden himself, the vast majority of them simply accepted the ruling, but as time went on and her treatment became more and more brutal, a few began to question it. One Warden in particular had stood out against her torture, eventually turning against his superiors and breaking her out. She'd stolen a suit of armour to blend in and escape, then run to the nearest city in the hopes she could hide until they grew tired of looking- an expectation Lamb found laughable, considering the Wardens' reputation for flogging dead horses.

She had no idea what had happened to her rescuer, but didn't hold much hope. He'd stayed behind to hold off her pursuers- the order he'd sworn allegiance to- in the middle of their stronghold. If he was lucky, he'd died quickly. If he was unlucky...

Despite everything, Lamb found to his surprise that he was enjoying her company. Not only because she was the prettiest face he'd ever seen, or because she was humorously thick at times, but because he genuinely liked being around her. In her weak moments, he wanted to comfort her. When she snapped at him, he found her simply adorable. When she did something clumsy, or stupid, or naive, she was superb to laugh at.

It helped that her circumstances echoed his own in many ways: host to a great power, clueless as to why it existed or how to use it, but unable to quite fit in with society because of it. He'd always been quietly confused by himself, burying it behind his job and his smart mouth, but now he had someone to share his confusion with. It was like he had finally found somewhere he belonged.

Having closed the tavern for the first two days, he'd been forced to reopen it in order to avoid suspicion. He couldn't have cared less what the patrons thought of him, but the situation in the city had only gotten worse. Patrols of guards policed the streets. Government spies were working amongst the populace. It was even rumoured that Wardens had been spotted in some districts, and that the city might be looking at martial law.

Nobody put a foot out of line anymore, for fear they might have it removed. The Boar's Head was no longer a place to relax, grab a drink, compare stories and catch up on news. It had turned into a twisted establishment where the patrons spent their time drowning their sorrows, cursing the government, and wishing they lived somewhere else. A few had even voiced thoughts of rising against their oppressors, but they were quickly silenced by their friends. A drunkard was a coward, and none of them would ever put deeds to their brave words, but that wouldn't stop their throat being slit on the way home. Treason was treason, no matter the situation.

As the hysteria spread, even Lamb began to worry. He didn't feel particularly endangered, considering no city guard could even scratch him, and the Wardens had yet to turn up anywhere nearby, but now he had more to care about than just his life. If they found he was harbouring a fugitive he'd have to make a run for it, or face imprisonment or execution. And while he might not be particularly pleased with his job, it still beat sleeping out under the stars in gods knew what conditions.

Nobody yet knew of Liz's existence- she didn't leave his room during opening hours- but the story of the injured Warden had spread like wildfire. Even with many more pressing issues to worry about, it was too spectacular a story for people to forget in a hurry, and it was only a matter of time until it made its way to the wrong ears. He'd intended to pack his bags and take the initiative, but soon found he was too lazy to bother. He knew he probably didn't have much time, but the longer he could keep a roof over his head, the better.

By the time the dogs finally came calling, nine days after Liz had arrived, he figured he'd had far longer that he had any right to expect.

* * *

A quiet day. Not a pleasant, comfortable quiet, but a brooding and resentful one. Only a handful of customers had turned up, and they weren't regulars. None of them wanted anything to eat. Some didn't even want anything to drink, but in light of everything going on Lamb couldn't bring himself to kick them out. He'd tried making a few jokes, but they'd fallen on deaf ears- normally he could at least have expected groans and complaints, but these people barely even registered his existence. It was like he was just another piece of the scenery.

So it was that, on that day, he found himself occupied standing in a corner at the back of the room, leaning against a wall and twiddling his thumbs. Lost in thought as always, because of which he never realised there was anything wrong until the Devil himself was sitting on his doorstep.

There was a noise like the discharge of a cannon, and a splintering of wood. He glanced up, head snapping stunned towards the noise emanating from the entrance, to find that the front wall had been completely destroyed. Splinters of wood littered the room, a few having struck some of the less fortunate patrons, and broken planks were scattered outwards from the void. In the street behind the hole, hidden behind a shifting mist of dust and debris, sat the silhouette of a mounted figure.

Caught somewhere between detached regret at the end of his life at the Boar's Head, gratitude at the dreary waiting period drawing to a close, and pure shock at the level of destruction, he made his way to the centre of the room. A clipping of hooves and the mounted figure advanced through the broken wall, stooping slightly to avoid scraping his head.

From that instant, Lamb knew that for the umpteenth time he'd made a mistake. A six foot man, sitting astride a midnight black charger of the finest pedigree. Both he and his horse were dressed in fiery red plate, an inch thick in places, which seemed to writhe and ripple with a mind of its own. He had an impressive pot belly, which might have been funny in other circumstances, and a greatsword slung over his back. The centre of the breastplate held an empty alcove, the same size and position as that which had held the ruby on Liz's stolen set.

He'd been an idiot- Liz would love that, if they made it out of this- to think that they'd send a bunch of underpaid men-at-arms to deal with a situation like this. Of course the Wardens would have come in person- they needed to keep the matter under control to prevent anybody from seeing through their lie.

The rider approached, moving slowly through the debris-littered tavern and pulling up a short distance away. He said nothing, only sat there looking down on him, emitting an aura of utter contempt. Lamb wanted to cry, or fall to his knees, or simply throw his head back and scream at his naiveté. Under other circumstances he might well have done so; but now he had Liz to look after. And besides, none of the fear or anger was anywhere near enough to override years and years of wishful daydreaming. When the Warden had, in his sheer arrogance, brought his horse into the tavern, he'd unwittingly fulfilled the scenario the boy had spent so much of his life fantasizing about.

Lamb raised his head, looking through the visor into the man's shrouded eyes, and the ghost of a smile played at the corner of his lips. "Why the long face?"

Another cannon shot and he was struck in the chest, blown off his feet and sent flying across the room. He dropped to his hands and knees beside an overturned table, coughing and clutching his chest. Even for him that had hurt like hell. For a normal person it might have been fatal- the Warden clearly wasn't messing around.

The armoured figure slipped off his horse, folding his arms across his chest, and his voice grated when he spoke like a rasping file. "I had heard you were strong. It would seem the stories were true."

Lamb lifted himself to his feet, body already aching. "Damn right I-"

Again came the crash of thunder and he was struck once more, flying through and shattering the wooden bar, bouncing off the wall behind with enough force to snap the timbers. Stunned by the force of the blow, he fell forwards, landing on his front against the debris-strewn floorboards. This was insane- not only did the Warden have the strength to actually hurt him, but the attack had been too fast for him to even see.

A moment's silence. Lamb was vaguely aware of the patrons fleeing for their lives. Then the man's voice wormed in through his ringing ears. "Did I give you permission to speak?"

Groaning to himself, Lamb stumbled back onto his feet. "D'I say you could trash-?"

This time he was struck from behind, blown back into the centre of the tavern by the explosion. His face ground into and through the floorboards, scoring a trench across the room. Shaken and reeling, he lifted his head to find himself staring at a pair of crimson boots. He spat out dirt and splinters of wood as his sat up, only to notice something peculiar. He stared at the ground in incomprehension for a moment, and then wiped the back of his hand across his lip. There was a sticky red substance smeared across it. Was that his... blood?

His eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. He spat again, this time in defiance. "That's how you wanna play it? Fine. I'll-"

The Warden wrapped a gauntleted fist around his neck, choking off the rest of his speech and lifting him into the air. Then he slammed him down into the ground, ribs snapping under the impact, inhuman strength shaking the building to its foundations and cratering the earth beneath. "This futile resistance grows increasingly tiresome. You will tell me what I want to know."

Lying on his back, Lamb coughed up a fine mist of blood, which fell back in an undignified manner to settle across his face. "Least let me finish my-"

The tread of a boot ground into his stomach, the Warden stomping him further into the dirt, and the world began to swim before his eyes. Against his fading will he found himself shrieking in agony, as his organs began to flatten under the pressure. The voice didn't sound like his own; it was like he was listening to someone else.

Then the pressure faded and he found himself bleeding slowly back into awareness. The knight looked down on him scornfully, appearing a giant to his shattered senses, an insurmountable mountain of bloody metal.

He crouched beside him. "I take it you are done?" Lamb said nothing, more because of the effort it would take than anything else. "Excellent. It's been reported that a Warden has been spotted in this area. I know a vagrant like you must spend much of your time in idle chatter, and I know that you can answer my question. Where are they?"

Lamb's lips moved softly. The Warden punched him in the face with a cross like a charging bull. "Let me explain your options to you. You can tell me what I want to know; or you can die here like the mangy dog you are. Choose."

Lamb closed his eyes for a few seconds, muscles relaxing as he fought off the urge to sleep then, resigned, opened them again. "Fine. I've got an idea."

"Yes?" The Warden leaned inwards eagerly.

Then a smile clawed its way across his beaten face, and he nodded at the man's protruding stomach. "Check under your armour? It'd fit half an army."

Nothing happened. Time appeared to slow to a standstill. Then, with an air of finality, the Warden rose to his feet. "Very well. Fallen Sun," A ball of fire welled up in his hand, spherical and head-sized, blazing blue, yellow, white, the colours fighting and lashing out at each other for control, "Hellcannon." He clenched his fist and the ball shrank, condensing into a miniature white sun, unbearably hot.

The knight raised his hand above his head, to bring it crashing down upon him, and Lamb smiled again, bittersweet. "Do it, freak. I ain't afraid to die. I'll wait for you in the next life, an' drag you through every fire in the darkest pits of hell. You'll be crying like a baby 'til the end of time."

Then the man's hand fell, and suddenly Lamb was the one screaming.

Black and white, consciousness and unconsciousness blurring into one, time itself dilating under the heat. His bones were aflame, his mind was ash, his flesh was an inferno. He couldn't tell where he was. He couldn't remember what he was doing. He couldn't remember his name. Disjointed sensations flashed before his scorched-dry eyes; the comfort of his life at the Boar's Head, the feel of cold stone under his feet, the taste of blood on his tongue, the smell of death in his nostrils.

Then the images faded, replaced by one of the girl. Elizabeth; that was her name. Liz. She rose up above him like the angel of god, head thrown back, snapshotted within the fabric of eternity. Anger, defiance, remorse, love, compassion. Everything he himself had loved her for.

The pain faded away into a pleasant numbness. Liz. It hadn't lasted long, but it had been nice while it lasted. And she was safe now. The Wardens wouldn't find her now. At least he'd gotten something right in the end.

He fixed her frozen for in his thoughts one last time, strangely satisfied with the turn of events.

Then he embraced the darkness, falling into its grasp like a child into a mother's arms.


	5. Escape

Escape

Nothing happened. His body was still numb. His mind was still reeling. His thoughts were still scattered. But he wasn't dead.

He opened his eyes. Still the same scene as before. Liz on the stairs, frozen mid-scream. The Warden above him, energy-wreathed fist burying itself in the centre of his chest. He looked at the injury in a moment of detached interest. His shirt had been vapourised. The surfacemost flesh had been burned away, exposing the blackened bones beneath. The magic had yet to pass through his ribcage and into his lungs, but it was only a matter of time. Or rather, it wasn't.

Because time was frozen.

Now he was more confused than ever. What was going on? Why wasn't he dead? What was he looking at? Was this just another image? It had to be, if nothing was changing. But why was he seeing this? Why had he seen the other ones? Half the memories which had flashed by weren't even his in the first place.

He focussed on the Warden in front of him, struggling to bring his shattered mind to bear, and began to notice things. This picture wasn't as still as he'd thought. The shifting colours of the Warden's magic- which had previously writhed with a mind of their own- weren't entirely motionless. Nearly, but not quite. He turned his head to the side, and found himself looking at a speck of dirt, suspended in mid-air. He watched it and, after what must have been minutes of scrutiny, realised that its position wasn't quite the same as it had been before. Time wasn't frozen. It was slow, unbearably slow, but it hadn't stopped.

This changed things. If time was passing, he couldn't be imagining this. It was real. He was watching himself die, in slow motion. Someone had slowed his time. Why? Who? There was nobody else here. Lamb wasn't a sorcerer. If it was the Warden, he'd be spending time gloating. So it had to be Liz- but why? Why slow it for him, and not herself? He hadn't known she was a mage, but if she was then why not use the ability to escape? With time slowed to this degree, it would be child's play to make a break for it. Unless...

She'd never told him she could use magic. He didn't think she'd have lied to him about that, so she might not have known herself; which meant that she might not be able to use it properly. Did she even know she was doing it now? What if it was instinctive, and her instincts had led her to affect him instead? What if it took too much energy to sustain while escaping? What if she couldn't move whilst using it? That meant he was her only hope. When the Warden was done with him he'd kill her next.

She might die if he didn't step in. Did he step in? He didn't know if he had the energy.

 _That's an excuse. You know you do._

Okay, so maybe he did. But did he want to take action? All the pain would return again. He was quite comfortable in this elated numbness.

 _Move._

He didn't want to. He'd done enough already, hadn't he? He'd taken her in. He'd fed her. Sheltered her. Clothed her. Wasn't it time she dealt with her own problems?

 _I'm your guardian angel. I want to guard you._

Spoken as a joke. He hadn't meant it. It had just been funny at the time.

 _Leave the Wardens to me._

That had been different. He hadn't known things would turn out like this. It wasn't his fault he was unable to fulfil his promise.

 _Move._

Did he really care that much? He'd made such a badass parting speech only moments ago. If he survived, wouldn't it all have been for nothing?

 _Petty._

Perhaps. But it had been the perfect farewell. If he got up now, it would all have been ruined.

 _She'll die._

Everybody dies.

 _Move._

He couldn't. This was a Warden he was talking about. He couldn't fight one of them.

 _Have you ever tried?_

He didn't need to. Did he? The Wardens were invincible- weren't they?

 _Move._

There were worse things they could do than kill him. Did he really want to take that risk?

 _Move._

Shouldn't he just play it safe? A quick and painless death? It didn't sound bad.

 _Elizabeth. Move._

Could he do it? Could he really do it?

 _Move._

He'd never heard of anybody who could beat a Warden. Could he be the first?

 _Move._

That would be nice. He'd be a hero.

 _Move._

And he couldn't really leave Liz, could he?

 _Move._

Then he didn't really have a choice, did he?

 _Move._

He closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. He didn't want this. He wasn't looking forward to this. He wasn't going to like this. But he didn't have any choice.

 _Move._

 _Fine then,_ he opened his eyes, burning with resolve, _have it your way._ _I'll move._

* * *

Time crashed back into existence. His right hand flashed out, grabbing the Warden by the wrist and wrenching his fist off to the side. The Hellcannon fired, and the ground beneath him exploded into a hurricane of grit and superheated air.

The Warden stopped. "Wha-?"

Lamb bunched up both legs, bringing them to his chest then lashing out as one, hitting the knight square in the chest and sending him flying into the air. The Warden smashed into the timbers of the ceiling, shattering them like an eggshell as Lamb rose blackened and bleeding to his feet. Then he began to fall back down to earth, flailing wildly like an overturned beetle.

Lamb brought his right foot up, up, above his head, leg outstretched. The falling man reached level with him, and it might have been his imagination but Lamb was sure he made contact with a pair of stunned and even frightened eyes. Then he slammed his foot down, heel splitting the air like a headsman's axe and striking him, with all the strength he could muster, in the small of his back.

His boot buckled, tearing apart under the force, ripping itself to pieces. The bone of his heel cracked open. The sorcerous breastplate buckled beneath it; then the Warden crashed into the ground with all the strength of a falling star. The earth quaked and the building shook, foundations falling apart under the onslaught. Glass windows bent and shattered in their frames. Dirt, grit and splinters flew in every direction. Another wall gave way; the overstressed tavern began to groan in protest.

Liz froze, blinking stupidly. "Huh?"

"Stupid!" Lamb bolted over to her, throwing her unceremoniously over his shoulder. "Stupid!" He made for the door, stopping on a whim to grab his statue under his other arm as he fled. "Stupid!" He raced without pause from the scene, grime-coated, sweating and bleeding. Behind him, flames began to spout from the windows of the ruined tavern, and the second floor began to fall.

* * *

"Why are we still running?" Liz called into his ear a short while later, pounding at his back in a futile attempt to make him drop her.

"Stupid girl!"

"What are you saying?"

"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"

"Enough!" She was screaming now. "Just stop! Put me down! We're safe!"

"Safe?" Lamb burst into hysterical laughter, half-delirious through pain and fear. "Safe? Think we're safe? Think I beat him?" He laughed again, blood and spittle raining from his broken lips. "I just pissed him off! Now they're gonna kill us slowly. They're gonna cut us into itty bitty pieces an' make us eat 'em! Stupid girl! Stupid!"

"Why," she screamed back in his ear, fists beating vainly against him, "what have I got to do with it!? I saved your life!"

"Saved my life?" He threw back his head, cackling manically. "You stupid girl! He didn't even know you were there!"

"You would have died!"

"I was fine!"

"You were beaten half to death!"

"Yeah! Half! You shoulda seen the other guy!"

"I did! You hadn't scratched him!"

"He was wearing armour!"

"Exactly! You were helpless!"

"He was armoured! You've no idea what he looked like! He coulda been beaten three quarters to death!"

"What?"

"What?"

The argument died as abruptly as it had begun. Lamb tried to focus simply on running.

 _Calm down. Breathe._

I am breathing!

 _Just run. Don't fight it. One foot after the other._

One foot after the other? I'm a goddamn dead man! We're both gonna die!

Despite his panicked state of mind, he found himself doing so anyway. One foot after the other. One had a boot on it. The other didn't. He found that funny for some reason. Left. Right. Left. Right. The cobbles flashing by beneath his feet. The buildings blurring into one, spinning past in a haze as he ran, faster than any man alive.

Every now and then a patrol spotted them and fired an arrow or two, but Lamb ignored them. He was faster than them; they'd never be able to hit him. And besides, he was well outrunning the word of his actions. Most simply saw him fly past, and knew nothing of he or Liz's fugitive status.

Ten minutes passed, and he made no signs of slowing. He'd had time to think, and although he wasn't entirely composed, he wasn't borderline insane anymore either. The pain was horrific but strangely bearable, and however grim their situation might be he felt sure that there was still hope yet.

"Lamb?" Elizabeth's voice was shaken, nervous, but urgent too.

"What?" He didn't mean to snap at her but it came out like that anyway, and she flinched as he spoke. He cringed inwardly, guilty already.

"He's here."

Swearing, he risked a glance back over his shoulder. A half mile back, fire burning from its hooves as it scattered everyone in its path, the warhorse was carrying its rider after them. The Warden was singed and scuffed, but didn't appear overly injured. He had his greatsword clenched in his right hand, and the reins clasped tightly in his left. As predicted, it seemed all Lamb had done was make him mad.

There was still hope, though. Lamb wasn't tired or out of breath- he could push himself further. Could he outrun a horse? Maybe. With his physical abilities, it might be worth a shot.

He picked up the pace, amazed he'd never tried this before. He'd always known he was strong, but never tried using that strength to run with- he'd never had any reason to. Now he found his legs powering him onwards like machines, bounding towards salvation, covering many yards and clearing entire streets in a single bound. Forget horses, he grinned despite everything, they didn't hold a hope in hell of keeping up. He was insane, he was inhuman; he had to be the fastest being alive!

"Lamb," Liz tapped his shoulder, and he snapped out of his ego trip.

"What?"

"They're getting closer."

A second's pause. "Huh?"

He glanced over his shoulder again, uncomprehending. She was imagining it- she had to be. The fastest horse in all the worlds shouldn't be able to catch him. But, stunningly, it was. Still a good distance off, but closing rapidly. It shouldn't have been, it didn't seem to be running particularly quickly, but... his eyes narrowed. It was out of step. The horse was running alright, but its hooves when they touched down weren't in sync with the ground. It was like it was running on air.

He swore, loudly and repeatedly, scorching the air. Bloody Wardens! Bloody Wardens and their bloody magic! As he thought it, a fireball flew past to his right, exploding against the front of somebody's house. He swore again.

Faster, he had to go faster; but he was at his limit. This was as far as he could go. He considered for a split-second giving up and handing himself in, but thrust the idea from his mind. Stupid thoughts. Damn it all!

The great walls of the city rose up before him, and the slightest ember of hope began to kindle in his breast. _Never give up. Never back down. There is no such thing as an unwinnable fight._

Another Hellcannon shot flew past and blew up against the road before him. He pressed on through the debris cloud, wincing as the shards of stone opened scores of little wounds across his body. Further. Just a little. Come on!

He reached the foot of the walls, not slowing in the slightest. Five or six yards tall, crenulated, manned by gods knew how many guards. The gates were open a minute ago, but they'd been closed at the explosions. He didn't have a choice- he had to go up. Could he do it? Only one way to find out.

"Hold on!"

"What do you-?"

He ignored the distraction of her voice, pouring every last ounce of his energy into the task at hand. Twenty yards to the walls. Ten. He hurled himself to the right, leaping up in the air. Three high. Maybe he should've slowed more. Then a building rose up beside him and he kicked off from it, using it as a springboard to launch himself higher and higher.

The stone of the walls flew by below him, inches away, ripping all the skin from his right forearm, but then he was over it. The ground rose up to meet him and he hit it, touching down hard with bone-cracking force, teeth threatening to rattle out of his gums. Liz over one arm and his statue under the other, he couldn't break into a roll and had no choice but to accept the impact. He felt his ankle break and forced himself backwards, leaning away from the earth as he skidded across the ground, ripping up topsoil and clumps of grass as he slid to an unsteady stop.

He fell to his knees, exhausted and in agony. He noticed distractedly that Liz was screaming hysterically in his ear. How long had she been doing that? _Since you jumped._ Huh. Maybe she was scared of heights.

He raised his head, well beyond the point of collapse. The forest. They'd be through the gates soon, but if he could get to the forest he might just stand a chance. After that, who knew?

* * *

Running. Panting. Sweat and blood in his eyes. A tree exploding to his left, splinters burying themselves in his side. No time to think about it.

The Warden was still behind him, firing cannonball after cannonball as he chased him down, but now he'd lost the advantage. The forest was thick here, and getting thicker. You couldn't ride in it, and the knight was being slowly left behind. Judging from the volume of magic directed his way, Lamb assumed he wasn't very happy about that fact.

He pressed further into the forest, the world beginning to darken under the canopy. The cannonballs had become more and more sporadic, until they appeared to tail off entirely, but that was no indication that they were safe. For all he knew the Warden was just toying with him.

He gave it a while longer before finally concluding that they really were safe. It was surprisingly difficult, he found, to get his legs to stop- they were so used to running, after nearly an hour of it, that they'd almost forgotten how to walk. Still, he brought himself to a stuttering halt. He placed his statue neatly in the soil beside him, then dropped Liz gracelessly into the dirt.

She leaped straight to her feet, spluttering in outrage, but stopped short when she saw the state he was in. "Oh, my God," her eyes widened like saucers, "What-?"

"Cut myself shaving," he growled, more than a little irritated.

"But-"

"No buts." He allowed his legs to give way beneath him, falling backwards into the deliciously soft earth. He wasn't physically tired as such- his body could still go a lot further- but his mind was in ruins. Too many near-death experiences for one day; and far, far, too much pain. "I'm fine."

She rushed to his side, panicking, and he slapped her hands aside when she tried to sit him upright. Her face fell. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't-"

"Stupid girl." He laughed, weakly but condescendingly. "How's it your fault?"

Her face broke down, and she began to cry. "You were trying to protect me. If I hadn't turned up-"

"I'd still be bored as hell, yeah. Think you forced me?"

She looked away. "It doesn't matter. If I hadn't turned up, you wouldn't be dying."

That snapped him harshly back into reality. He blinked, suddenly sitting upright and choking in outrage. "You what!? D'you say I was dying!?"

Liz paled, trembling. "No! No, of course not! You're going to be just-"

"Stupid girl!" He broke into a self-deprecating grin. "Stupid, stupid, girl. Think something like this could kill me?"

"No, I never-"

"Gods- all the girls in the world and I get stuck with the thickest of the lot."

A moment's pause as that sank in. "Hey!"

The grin slipped from his face, and he looked at her earnestly, waiting for her to meet his gaze before continuing. "I'm fine. There ain't no problem."

She looked away again, downcast. "How can you say that?" Then she looked back at him, remembrance flickering in her eyes. "And how did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"When you... with the Warden- and the wall- and... everything!"

"How'd you heal so fast?"

"I don't know."

"Then there ya go."

"But that's not the same!"

"Close enough."

"No it's not. It's-"

"Liz?"

"Yes?"

"I'm tired. Let me sleep."

"But can-"

"Let. Me. Sleep."

A short pause, as she weighed up the values of interrogating him and letting him rest. "Fine. But this isn't over. Once we're out of here, you're going to answer my questions."

"Yeah, whatever." He rolled onto his side, back to her as he closed eyes. Stupid girl. He was what he was. He did what he did. He was just Lamb- wasn't he?

* * *

03/07/15

Okay, so up until now the updates for this have been very sporadic, for a number of reasons. Now it appears I have a lot more time on my hands, and so I can finally get into a regular routine for updating. As of now, new chapters are uploaded every Friday, with the possibility of additional irregular updates should I prove particularly productive.


	6. Kickback

11/07/15

Okay, so I may have accidentally overwritten this chapter with the first part of the next one. I was up most of the night rewriting it, but by the time I'd finished I was too tired to give it the edit it deserved. Normally I never upload anything half-finished, but as this was supposed to be released yesterday I decided to make an exception.

This is a very rough version of the chapter. I'll replace it with the polished one some time this evening, so it's up to you whether you read it as is or wait until then.

* * *

Something jolted his aching skull, and he rolled fuzzily into awareness. His whole body was numb, and he found he was quite unable to move it, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. There was something soft beneath his head; something warm and welcoming, like a pillow. He tried to remember why he had awakened, but the idea of sleep was just too tantalising. He let his mind drift off again, wandering back into whatever world it had been exploring before-

Something smacked into the back of his skull and he choked down a scream, furious eyes snapping open in an instant. His legs were caught! He snatched them away; they came free and he fell into the earth below.

Pain struck his body like a wildfire, all his forgotten injuries returning to batter him remorselessly, defenceless without the shield of an adrenaline rush. This time he did scream, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball as the agony dragged him under like a fishing boat in a maelstrom. The world disintegrated before him, vision clouding over and fading to black.

He didn't know how long he lay there, crying in misery, until he finally regained his cracked senses. Liz was knelt beside him, worry and fear etched across her face, hand on his forehead as though checking his temperature. He slapped it away. "Hell a you doing?"

She withdrew her arm, hurt. "I'm sorry, I tried-"

"Enough!"

"I'm... sorry?"

"That's what I mean," he scowled, "always sorry. Always your fault. Always wrong. D'you have any idea how old that gets?"

"You mean...?"

"I'm tired enough already, without you apologisin' every second. Cut it out."

"Right." She looked down. "I'm so- no, I mean, yes. Okay. I'll stop- but it's harder than it sounds."

Lamb snorted. "Ain't difficult for anyone else. Now- why the hell d'you decide to start dragging me across the forest?"

"It was... I didn't mean wake you. But we aren't safe here."

"Course not. We're bein' hunted. Why would it be?"

"That's not what I mean. What I meant to say is, we're trapped."

"Trapped?" He sat up suddenly, grunting as it reminded him of all his aching pains. "What do you mean, trapped?"

"I thought I should look around the forest while you were unconscious, see if I could find a way out."

"And did you?"

She scowled, and under normal circumstances he might have found her pouting cute, but this time there was something darker in it. "You could say that. I found the edge of the forest, alright."

"But?" he asked, already predicting the answer before she responded.

"But the edge is a chasm. One step it's trees, the next you're falling to your death. It stretched as far as I could see, and I don't think there's a way around it."

Lamb swore under his breath. It looked like his lack of interest in life outside the city had come round to bite him in the arse. Otherwise, he might have known about this beforehand. "There has to be a way across, right? Must be something."

"There's a crossing," Liz said, "but just the one."

"So it'll be guarded."

"I didn't see anyone, but the Wardens aren't stupid. If they know we're here, and they know it's our only escape, they won't just let us cross."

"And behind?"

"I thought I'd check that out too, just in case we got lucky. There's nobody inside the forest, but there are a lot of lights outside the treeline. They've got us trapped; they're just waiting now to see where we head."

Lamb sank back against a tree, resting against it for support. "This is bad."

Liz, half-smiled. "You don't say."

Lamb shook his head."Not what I meant. You thought you'd go lookin' around. You start making decisions, it's dangerous for both of us."

"Oh, screw you," her face soured and she punched him in the arm, only to draw it back with a look of remorse when he gasped at even the light impact. "I'm so-"

"Say sorry again an' I'll tie your mouth shut."

Liz fixed her gaze on the ground. "I told you; it's hard."

"An' I said everyone else gets by fine."

The two of them went silent for a while, both trying to figure out what to do next, until Lamb decided to take the initiative. "Well they ain't gonna leave us alone, an' we can't stay here forever. Reckon we should just make for the bridge and hope for the best."

Liz shook her head. "It's too risky. I can't fight, and you're in no state to go up against a Warden. We need to go back, see if we can find a way to sneak past."

"Then what? I can't run if they see us. Even if we get past them, we've still got to escape."

"But we'll have just the same problem with your idea."

Lamb shook his head. "This is why I said you shouldn't make the decisions. We take the bridge, an' we destroy it. Nothing simpler."

"Destroy it how?"

"Dunno. I'll figure it out."

Liz thought on it a moment. "If you're sure. But at least wait a couple of days. You can't face a Warden like that."

Lamb laughed. "Can't face a Warden either way. 'Sides, we don't all heal like you."

"You mean...?"

"Months. Couple of days ain't gonna make a damn bit of difference."

Liz stared at him like he was some kind of alien creature. "You heal that slowly?"

Lamb laughed weakly at that. "Everyone does. It's only you who doesn't."

"Then," she sat back, lost, "we really don't have a choice, do we?"

"Nope." Liz made no move to take action, so he decided he had to take charge again. "Help me up."

The girl blinked, brought out of her thought. She walked over to him and he put his intact arm around her shoulders, painstakingly lifting himself to his feet. He looked around for a second before speaking again. "Where's my statue?"

"I couldn't carry it and you at the same time. Why do you care so much about some weird statue, anyway?"

"It's mine. Ain't nothing else that's mine. An' since it's here, might as well take it with us."

"But it's just going to slow us down."

"Well," lamb snorted, "look on the bright side. Worst comes to the worst, it'll be good firewood."

"We're in a forest."

"Yeah, but not for long. Stupid girl."

He took a single hesitant step, arm still around her shoulder for support, gritting his teeth against the pain. A second and third step, and they grew into an uncomfortable rhythm. It wasn't like the pain faded at all, but with practice Lamb found that he was able to ignore it to a degree, forcing it to the back of his mind.

He was surprised to find his statue a couple of hundred yards away. He'd thought he was just asleep, but if Liz had dragged him that far before he woke up maybe it could have been something more. He'd been angry at the girl for pronouncing him a dead man, but looking back he'd certainly slept like one. _Just how badly injured am I_?

 _Broken heel,_ the thought inserted itself into his mind, _broken ankle. Two cracked ribs, multiple damaged organs, and a big hole in the centre of your chest. Plus a skinned right arm. Plus a whole host of minor injuries._

 _Damn_ , Lamb frowned- then realised, as somebody who had never been injured before, that he had no idea how bad those kinds of injuries were.

 _Bad. If you don't get help soon, you're going to die of blood loss._

He sighed inside. It was a hassle, but he knew better than to doubt his inner voice. He'd never known it to be wrong before.

They reached his statue and he had Liz cut him some vines for it, with the knife she'd conveniently had stuffed down her boot. Doing his best (and failing miserably) to avoid touching his open wounds he managed to strap it awkwardly to his back. Then, deciding it was best not to leave time to dwell on anything, he began to lead them towards where she said the bridge was situated.

A half hour's careful shuffling later, and Liz brought them to a halt. "It's up ahead."

Lamb half smiled, half shivered, caught between emotions and reactions even he couldn't understand. A week ago he wouldn't even have dreamed of doing this, and the thought would have filled him with nothing but terror- but he was no longer the same person he'd been a week ago.

Things had been changing inside him. It had started with Liz, gradually, as he began to understand the concept of self-sacrifice and the desire to protect; but it was the fight with the Warden that had made the drastic change.

Lamb had never been an angry person. Sure, he'd been irritated, and frustrated, but never angry. He'd never been violent either, never using more force than required and never taking pleasure in it. Now he could no longer say either of those things. He hated the Warden, for his arrogance and his actions, and that hate wasn't fading any time soon. When he'd kicked him it was as though a lever had been pulled in his mind- in that moment he'd felt a savage joy unlike anything before, as though destroying an enemy could in some way help him feel alive.

He wasn't sure he liked the change. He didn't think he wanted to be that kind of person- like those brawlers who went round picking fights just to batter anyone they took a dislike to- but at the same time it seemed somehow natural, as though this was how he'd always been.

The change hadn't just been mental, either. Lamb had never been a fighter, simply because his superior strength was more than enough to deal with any threats, but during the confrontation he'd felt like a natural. He hadn't even needed to think; his body had simply acted on autopilot. It was all, he felt, somehow linked to his missing memories, and he really did need to get around to looking into those.

"Great." He forced his trembling face into a twisted smile, still unsure whether he was shivering through fear or excitement. "Then wait for me here. I'll deal with this."

Liz said nothing, and she didn't need to. He could read it all off her face. He turned his back on her, setting his jaw and making for the edge of the treeline.

"Lamb," she called him back and he turned. She paused, playing with her hands and suddenly fascinated by the ground at her feet. "Come back safely."

He grinned to himself. "Don't worry. I think I've remembered."

"Remembered what?"

The grin turned into a predatory smirk. "How to fight."

* * *

He'd expected some kind of rope bridge, but it looked like this place was more important than he'd thought. It was stone, arched and wide enough to cross in a cart, and a trampled path led away on either side. The chasm itself wasn't that wide, maybe only fifteen or twenty yards, but stretched down into the bowels of the world like a great wound. Had he been any less injured he might have stood a chance, but right now it was too risky. Liz, remarkably, had made the right decision.

The Warden stood there in the middle of the bridge, arms folded across his chest, greatsword slung across his back. Lamb couldn't tell how long he'd been standing there, but impressive as it might look it didn't seem very practical. Unless he'd known he was coming. The man didn't seem particularly surprised to see him- but then it was hard to read somebody covered head to toe in plate.

Lamb emerged from the treeline, limping out into the open and untying his statue, stopping and setting it down at the base of the bridge. "Don't stand on my behalf."

"Funny," the man rasped, "look what washed up at my feet. Come to grovel, you half-dead mutt?"

"Ain't the desperate animal supposed to be the most dangerous?"

The Warden didn't respond, only raised his right hand, palm outstretched. "Fallen Star," he muttered, and Lamb had just enough time to think of a few choice words, "Hellcannon."

A ball of fire blossomed in the palm of his hand, bursting outwards and flying towards the boy. Lamb's eyebrows lifted slightly. He'd been right, then, about remembering. Before he couldn't even follow it, and yet now it seemed clear as day.

He raised both arms before him, blocking the shot with his forearms. The impact of the detonation knocked him backwards and he rode it, bracing his feet and skidding backwards across the path. He lowered his arms, chuckling to himself. "Please sir, let me cross. Wait until the next fugitive arrives- she's much more wanted than I."

The Warden grunted. "A real joker." A moment's pause. "I hate jokers."

He fired a second shot and Lamb sprung into action, twisting out of the way, digging his toes into the dirt and propelling himself forwards. He couldn't beat this man in brute force- he wasn't sure he could have even uninjured- but in this case he didn't need to. All it took was a little thought.

He reached the statue, spinning on his rear leg and side kicking it towards the Warden, fighting instincts blooming inside him even as he moved. The knight took a step back, charging another Hellcannon shot in his right hand and batting the statue away with his left. Lamb leaped in behind it, unseen, and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath when the man realised how close he'd gotten. If he'd had the time, he might have made some kind of snide comment.

The Warden tried bringing his right hand to bear but Lamb slapped it aside, the magic discharging into the bridge and blowing a hole through to the other side. He struck out with his own fist, punching up towards the man's exposed chin. _Not like that!_ came the voice in his head, too late to prevent anything.

The uppercut landed with bone crushing force, snapping the Warden's head upwards and lifting him off the ground, armour and all. Lamb had a split-second to feel satisfied before the pain of his shattered knuckles and snapped wrist made its way to his brain.

He fell backwards, screaming and cradling it to his chest. His vision flashed out again, white this time, and he barely had time to react to the glint of silver flashing through his peripheral vision.

He rolled to the side, springing dizzily onto his feet as a greatsword blade chewed through the bridge where he'd been lying. The knight swung at him again and he backed away, skipping left, right, back again. It was remarkable how quickly the pain faded in a fight- focussed entirely on the man in front of him, he could barely feel it anymore.

 _Don't punch,_ his voice commanded him, _not now._

 _I know,_ he responded through gritted teeth, _I'm not stupid._

The greatsword swung at head level and he leaned out of the way, hopping in before the knight could strike again. Another Hellcannon shot appeared and Lamb forced it down, blowing another hole in the masonry of the bridge before kicking the man in the stomach. The Warden flew backwards, bouncing off the ground and rolling to a stop as Lamb tried to ignore the throbbing from his broken heel. _Not much further now._

The Warden rose to his feet, firing off another shot which he dodged, and the two flew towards each other. Lamb leaped over the next swing, kneeing the man in the face and denting the visor, landing behind him and elbowing him in the slight fracture he'd made back at the tavern. A wild swing which he dodged, following up with a palm heel to stumble the man. Hellcannon shot, deflected into the ground. Stabbing sword, sidestepping to avoid it. As the encounter drew on, Lamb began to become more and more hopeful. This wasn't as bad as he'd expected. He might actually be able to win this.

Then he made a mistake, stepping backwards and finding nothing underneath his searching foot. He stumbled, arms windmilling as he fell backwards, guard dropped and unable to react the next swing of the greatsword.

The blade struck him across the chest, carving through his skin and ribs and barely missing his lungs. He shrieked, landing heavily against the cold stone, but there was no time to pay attention to his injuries. He rolled again, jacknifing to his feet and putting some distance between the two of them. His head slumped, beaten and broken, and he panted from the exertion. He'd gotten cocky. How bad was it?

 _Bad enough,_ came the response. _If the adrenaline runs out you'll be too hurt to move, and if not you'll die of blood loss. It's now or never._

Now, then. He had to end it. He watched through misting eyes as the Warden approached, leisurely, convinced he was no longer a threat. And a way he wasn't- he was dead on his feet.

One step. Two. Lamb couldn't do it. He just couldn't. He'd blown it, and now he had neither the strength to finish the job. He couldn't even muster the strength to sigh.

The Warden came to a halt in front of him, and Lamb raised his beaten face to lock eyes with him. There was no mercy in them, no pity; but then he hadn't been expecting any. There was no other outcome.

The man raised his sword above his head and Lamb fell to his knees, legs giving way beneath him. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he might have seen somebody else behind the knight, running towards him, but it didn't matter. It wasn't like the man needed reinforcements.

The setting sun glinted off the executioner's blade, painting it a blazing orange and imbuing it with a dazzling fire. Lamb slumped, overstretched muscles relaxing into inevitability. The man took the blade in both hands, preparing to cut him in half-

A stone bounced of his pauldron. "Over here!" The man turned in surprise, and Lamb followed his example, to fine Liz striding from the treeline, face a cross between fury and horror. "I'm the one you want!"

The Warden froze. Then he began to chuckle, a deep and evil chuckle. "Aren't you the brave one. How generous." He took one hand from his blade, fireball generating in his palm. "Now I can kill you h-"

Something snapped inside Lamb. Drawing upon reserves of strength he hadn't even known he owned he rose to his feet, hand knifing into the man's sword-wielding wrist. The man gasped, dropping the blade reflexively and Lamb caught it. He forced his shoulder into the Warden's breastplate, knocking him backwards and sending the cannonball off target.

Despite everything, Lamb found himself giggling in grim satisfaction. The Warden looked at him in confusion. "What's so funny?"

Lamb fixed his gaze on him, centre of a circle of devastation, creaking under his weight, and a glint entered his eye. "You _fall_ for it." Then he brought the great blade up above his head, driving it into and through the stone of the bridge with all the strength he could muster.

A spiderweb of cracks ran through the stonework and the Warden gasped, realising too late the danger he was in. He hurled himself forwards, charging towards the boy, but Lamb twisted the planted sword, shattering the demolished bridge with a resounding crash.

The floor gave way beneath the Warden and he fell, feet treading on air. "Son of a-"

Then of a sudden he was gone, and with him the entire centre section of the bridge. The second man stopped, pulling to a halt in horror, and Lamb closed his eyes. One out of two wasn't bad. He'd done what he could. Now it was Liz's turn.

Tired beyond belief, he finally allowed his body to sleep, toppling forwards into the abyss.


	7. Aftermath

Lamb awoke to a comfortable bed, a thatched roof, and a fireplace burning warmly a short distance away. He was alive. He'd liked to have called that a pleasant surprise, except his inner voice had given him an annoying and incessant running commentary on the state of his injuries. If anything, he'd just been bored to death waiting to wake up again.

He sat up, looking around at his surroundings. He was in some kind of round, single-room cottage. The walls were wooden, with a couple of windows spaced opposite each other. There was a table in the centre of the room- round, with a number of chairs tucked underneath it. Liz was sat in an armchair beside his double bed, head nodding and dribbling slightly. Lamb smirked to himself, making a mental note to inform her of that fact later on.

Shoving the blankets to one side, he lowered himself carefully to the ground, finding that while the pain was still there it was at least minimal. Somebody had changed his clothes while he was out of it, and he found he was wearing a new pair of black trousers. He had no shirt, his entire upper body covered in a thick layer of bandages, and his boots were gone. Not that he particularly cared, considering how irreparably damaged they'd been; and the same could be said for the rest of his clothes. More important was the question of whose house they were staying in.

He yawned to himself, stretching the aches out of his arms whilst trying not to injure himself further. Having now experienced how it felt to be wounded, he decided it was not something he wished to go through again. Leave that to the Wardens and the soldiers. So, to avoid that, he was going to retrieve Liz and his statue, and then they were going to go somewhere the Wardens wouldn't find them. Leave the whole fighting thing to those more suited to it.

He glanced around the room in sudden alarm. His statue wasn't here. He sincerely hoped that they hadn't left it behind- or worse, that it had fallen into the chasm. Not that he knew why he cared so much, but he felt deep down that if he were to lose the statue, things would go very badly.

 _It's outside,_ the voice rose unbidden to his mind, and he groaned in frustration.

 _Not you again..._

 _We need to talk._

Lamb scowled. _Don't want to. You're annoying._

 _This is important._

 _You're importantly annoying?_

 _Hilarious. I see why that Warden wanted to kill you so badly._

The boy shrugged in frustration. _That guy was a dick._

 _Who only showed up because of Liz. Didn't you find it interesting how he arrived for Elizabeth but paid so much attention to you instead?_

 _Probably because I was hitting him._

 _Did you really believe that?_

 _Shouldn't I?_

 _Liz should have been the prize, and you the obstacle, but halfway through those roles seemed to switch. Didn't you feel that?_

 _Not really,_ Lamb sat down on the edge of the bed, _I was too busy hitting him. But go on, then; if you're so clever, why'd he do it?_

There was a pause in the mental conversation. _Are you aware of the Prophecy of the Four?_

 _Course. The realms were being overwhelmed by the demons, and the Prophecy said that the Four Elements would rise up to save the world. Then it turned out the Elements were four warriors of each race, and they locked the demons back in their own realm._

 _Hmm,_ the voice agreed, _sort of. But there was a second part to the Prophecy; one that they prefer to keep secret._

 _Oh?_

 _The second part is more or less the opposite of the first. It states that one day the demons will return, and the Four Elements- which, for the record, have disappeared into gods know where- will be forced to face them again. And that when they do, a world will be destroyed. I think that second part is just about overdue._

Lamb froze. _You mean the world is going to be destroyed?_

 _Not the world, a world. It was never specified which._

 _Then what does that have to do with me?_ Thoughts of his broken memory and physical abilities sprung to mind and he stopped. _Hang on. Are you trying to say I'm the Human Element?_

Muffled laughter greeted his question. _You do realise the Elements were around nearly a hundred years ago? Besides, you don't even come close to one of them._

 _Yeah, then what? Are you him?_

 _Hardly. But you're a little closer._

 _Then who are you?_

 _I'm you. Sort of._

 _Then,_ Lamb closed his eyes, _if the Prophecy doesn't involve us, why bring it up?_

 _Well,_ the voice stated, _I said you weren't an Element. I didn't say it doesn't involve us._

 _It does?_

 _It's obvious that you're not normal. I know you aren't the Human. The Wardens don't._

 _Your point?_

 _They weren't sure at the time, but now that you've defeated a Warden they're going to jump to conclusions. I'm trying to warn you- it won't just be Liz they're hunting now. If they get it into their heads that you're an Element, the threat you pose to them is enormous. They'll be after you too._

 _Perfect. Just perfect._ The boy sighed heavily to himself. _If you know so much, can you at least tell me who I am?_

 _Matthias Lamb. Sixteen years old, onetime peacekeeper and now fugitive._

 _You know what I meant. Why am I missing half my memory? Why has some of it started returning?_

The voice chuckled patronisingly. _That's something you'll have to figure out for yourself, in your own time. Right now, I'm just an observer._

 _Great. Fat lot of use you are._

Lamb lay back down on the bed. The world ending, the Wardens hunting, and an annoying and unhelpful voice in his head. Wonderful.

* * *

Liz woke later in the day, drowsy and blurry-eyed. He looked at her. "You dribble in your sleep."

She stared at him. Blinked exactly once. A second passed, then two, then just when he was beginning to think she might have fallen back to sleep she let out a shriek, hurling herself at him.

He fell back onto the bed in shock as she caught him in a bear hug, burying her head in his chest and sobbing madly. "You're awake! Thank god, I was so... so..."

Lamb froze, stunned at the sudden outburst of emotion. He wasn't sure whether to complain that she was crushing him, or be happy with the closeness of her body. In the end he did neither, simply letting herself cry herself out until his bandages were soaking.

Eventually she pulled back. Her eyes were red-rimmed, puffy from her tears, which he found looked pretty cute- kind of like a puppy. He shoulders were still shaking, but she seemed to have a little more control over herself. "Thank god you're alive. I was so worried- I mean, if you died because of me..."

"Swear to god," Lamb muttered, "you've gotta be the stupidest girl I've ever met. Didn't I say I wasn't gonna die on you? Just needed a rest is all."

"I know. I should have trusted you. I'm s-"

"One more word."

She gave a wry smile. "Oh. Forgot about that. It's just, you were out for ten days and-"

"What!?" Lamb jumped. "You're joking!? Ten days!?"

"That's why I was so worried. Quint told me that you'd recover, but then so much time passed, and..."

"Damnit!"

She stopped, looking at him. "What?"

"Ten days! Ten days of my life I coulda done something with, an' now they're gone."

"I... don't really think that's the biggest problem..."

"Course it is. D'you have any idea what I'd have done in ten days?"

"Not really?"

"Neither do I- an' now I never will."

Liz put a hand over her mouth, smothering a laugh. "I really don't think it's that much of an issue."

"Yeah, but... ah, whatever." Lamb scowled, finding himself unable to sustain any resentment in her presence. "Guess I can't change it now anyways."

The girl smiled. "See. Look on the bright side. At least you're alive."

"Only one surprised by that's you." He glanced at her. "Who's Quint?"

"The man who saved you. You were falling off the edge, and Quint arrived just in time to catch you. This is his and Max's house. They said we could stay here while you recovered."

"Max is...?"

"She's his girlfriend I think. And she's," Liz thought about how to phrase it, "interesting. She's not really all that good with people. She's a bit shy, and she isn't really that good at talking. But she's nice, and it was her who healed you."

Lamb nodded distractedly. Then he noticed something. "Those her clothes you're wearing?"

Liz glanced down at the brown dress. "Well, I couldn't really go around looking like- the way you dressed me."

He nodded appreciatively. "It looks better."

"Really?" She smiled at him in surprised gratitude.

"Yeah. Nice and plain. Matches your face."

The grin flipped into a scowl. "Max isn't happy about how you dressed me. You'll probably have to check she doesn't slip something into your food, or you might end up lying in bed for a little longer."

His face paled. "She knows how to that?"

"She knows how to do pretty much anything. From what I've been told, she can't forget a single word she's read."

"Cause she can't read?"

"She runs a library."

"Ah."

"Yes, ah. So try not to step on either of their toes. I may have had a while to get used to you, but they haven't; and I can't guarantee they'll be as forgiving as me."

* * *

Quint, as Lamb discovered when he returned, was a handsome man in his early twenties. He had the tan of a traveller, and a long black ponytail which contrasted starkly with his light blue eyes. He was tall- so Lamb found that he was forced to crane his neck a little to look him in the eyes- but not extraordinarily so.

Liz made the introductions and Quint held out his hand to shake; his left, so that Lamb didn't have to use his broken one. Max followed behind him, and Lamb began to understand what Liz had been getting at. The girl, blonde haired and wearing the same clothes as Liz, never quite stepped out from behind her partner. When she greeted him her voice was quiet, timid, and somehow fragile.

As she went to make dinner, Quint sat them down at the table. To begin with it was simply small talk, introducing himself, talking about his love of books and the library he ran- a subject which Lamb simply nodded along with, since he didn't really know how to read. However, as time went on the conversation seemed to become more and more pointed.

"I can't imagine how hard it could be," Quint said, "having to go through what you did."

Lamb shrugged. "Life ain't easy to begin with."

"You mean you've had issues like that before?"

Lamb shook his head. "But I helped run a tavern back home. Seen enough people down on their luck to know I ain't special."

"Except most people's issues don't involve fist fighting with Wardens."

"Well, we all got our problems. Figure I did okay."

"You did more than okay." The man leaned forwards, locking eyes with him. "I've seen what damage a Hellcannon blast can do. Most people would have been ripped apart by attacks like that; but you were able to shrug them off like they were nothing, then win a fight against a Squire when you were dead on your feet. You have to admit, that takes something special."

"I'm strong- an' hell, you ain't no weakling yourself."

Quint leaned back into his chair again, arms folded across his chest. "What do you mean by that?"

"I was a keeper o' the peace. I know a warrior when I see one."

"Perhaps," Quint nodded, "but being a warrior doesn't necessarily mean much."

Lamb raised an eyebrow at the deflection, remembering the second man who'd shown up just at the end of his fight. "Does if you can make a hundred yards in time to catch me."

The man gestured helplessly. "Okay, you have me there. Maybe I know a little magic; but that doesn't change anything or answer my question."

"Which is what?"

"How did you do it?"

"Told you- I'm strong an' I'm sturdy. An' I got lucky."

"But why are you so strong and resilient? What kinds of powers are you using?"

"Why are you askin'?"

"I've given you clothes to wear, food to eat, and a roof over your head- I think I have the right. And, while I've talked with Elizabeth about what happened to you two, there are still too many gaps to be filled."

"Like what?"

"Like what happened to you before you met her. Why are you so unnaturally strong, and why did you throw away your home and start a fight with the Wardens for somebody you'd only known for a week- and who, according to her, hadn't even told you why she was being hunted."

Lamb glanced over at Liz, frowning. "Weren't they after you 'cause they wanted your powers for themselves?"

She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "They... yes, they were, but also... well, that's not really the whole story."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Figured as much. Stupid girl."

"So," Quint interjected, "why did you do it? It hardly seems like a normal thing to do."

"Maybe," Lamb muttered, "just maybe, 'cause I don't like people dyin' when I can stop it."

"And your powers?"

"Don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I don't know."

"Then who are you really?"

"I don't," Lamb rose to his feet, slamming his fist down with enough force to crack the table, and knocking his chair across the room, "bloody, know!"

There was a hiss of breath as Max spilled something on her hand. The room went silent, all three of them gaping at his outburst. He shook his head in disgust, storming out of the house and accidentally breaking the hinges of the door. Considering that this man had rescued him, he'd kind of expected he might be even a little friendly.

And now he was being interrogated like some kind of criminal. Maybe he really should have stayed home after all.


	8. Repentance and Explanations

_Actually, you are a criminal._

Lamb halted. _What?_

 _Considering you threw a Warden off a bridge... and you're assisting a known fugitive... I'm pretty sure, last time I checked, that that would make you a criminal._

 _Yeah, but... he doesn't have to treat me like one._

 _Even if you are one?_

 _Okay, maybe I am a criminal- but I didn't do anything wrong; did I?_

 _The very fact that you're asking me that means you don't find yourself wholly innocent._

Lamb sighed, sitting down on a tree stump. _Fine. What are you trying to say?_

 _That if that man treated you harshly in any way, it was hardly unprovoked. You're a volatile and violent fugitive, and nobody can offer any explanation for who or what you are. That makes you mysterious, which in turn makes you dangerous._

 _Then why rescue me?_

 _Because you humans have a peculiar habit of instinctively running to the aid of those in trouble._

 _You aren't human?_

 _I'm a voice in your head._

The boy paused, considering and resting his chin on his good hand. _I'm not going to apologise. It's his own fault for speaking to me like that._

 _Are you sure you didn't goad him into it by being unhelpful?_

 _I'm not apologising._

 _Even if it was your own fault?_

 _Nope._

 _You know Elizabeth is with them? If you leave now, you'll never seduce her._

 _But I'd get her to come with me._

 _Right. So you think she'd choose to run away with you rather than stay in a place with a warm bed, good food, and non-psychotic companions?_

 _Did you just call me a psycho?_

 _Do you remember when you were unconscious, and I kept talking to you to explain your situation?_ Lamb said nothing, crossing his arms and setting his jaw. _Imagine that, but worse._

The boy groaned, scowling and lifting himself heavily to his feet. _Fine. But one of these days I'm going to kill myself, just for the satisfaction of taking you with me._

Stifled laughter met his empty threat.

* * *

Lamb walked through the damaged door, trying to close it and failing. He picked up his chair, setting it down and seating himself, painfully aware of the dead silence of the room. He fixed his eyes on the table, mumbling something under his breath.

Liz looked over at him. "What?"

"Mm sry." His voice carried about an inch before tailing off into inaudibility.

Liz sat back, the slightest hint of a smirk hovering at the edges of her mouth. "Sorry; I still can't hear you."

Lamb froze for a second. Then he fought down his resentment and his trepidation, hiding them behind a mask of defiance as he lifted his head, locking challenging eyes with the man in front of him. "I'm sorry. Shouldn'tve snapped at you. Or broken your door. So," he struggled through, forcing the words through gritted teeth, "sorry 'bout that. But I mean, you were bein' kinda unfriendly. You kept askin' all kindsa questions, like I was some kinda criminal. And treatin' me like I was gonna kill you in the night or somethin'. But I mean, I'm sorry. Even if I wasn't wrong. Or somethin'. Sorry."

There was another moment of silence as he waited for the response. After what seemed like a lifetime Liz began clapping, slowly and patronisingly. "Wow. I'm... speechless, actually. Who would have known you had it in you to make such a sincere apology? Considering what an egotist you are."

Lamb's eyes narrowed. "You say something?"

"Thank you for that," Quint broke in before the two could devolve into another of their petty arguments, "Lamb. And I think I owe you an apology as well. It appears I was untactful in my questioning. I should have seen that you were getting worked up about it- you genuinely don't understand how you can do what you can do?"

Lamb shrugged. "Not a clue."

"I see. I understand now why that might be a sensitive subject."

"I wouldn't really say that..." Lamb trailed off. _Am I sensitive? I'd hate to be sensitive. It would make me some kind of wimp._

 _Why ask me? Who am I, your mother?_

 _Forget it. I was stupid to expect a helpful response from you._

"Either way," the man went on, "I'm glad we were able to see eye to eye. The last thing I would want is to make an enemy of the boy I just rescued."

"Yeah," Lamb agreed, "that's a point. You know why I was there; but why were you walkin' round in the middle of the woods?"

"Actually, I'd been planning on visiting your city. I wanted to see if I could find anything interesting for the library."

"Thought it was her," Lamb nodded towards Max, "that ran that?"

"It's a bit of a joint venture. Max takes care of it while I'm away. But I'm glad you know about it."

"Liz said sayin' something 'bout it earlier."

"Yes," Liz said, "we were having a conversation about it earlier. It came up after he so generously complimented me on my dress."

Lamb shrugged. "I said was it matched her face."

Quint sat back, only half-understanding the meaning beneath the coded exchange as Liz continued on. "Speaking of criminals, I hope you realise that technically you are one?"

"Heh. That's exactly what-" He ground to a sudden halt, realising that he probably shouldn't admit to having a voice in his head, not unless he wanted to be branded as crazy.

"Exactly what?" Liz queried.

"Exactly what I was thinkin'," he finished lamely.

"Really? Because it didn't sound like-"

"Oh look," he cut her off as Max approached at an extremely convenient moment, setting down four steaming bowls of soup, "food. Lemme eat. I'm hungry."

With reluctance, Liz allowed the matter to drop, and the four of them set about finishing off the meal. Lamb, to his surprise, found himself going back for not only a second but a third helping too. It was probably the best thing he'd ever tasted, considering that in the past the cooking had only been done by him, Jence, or one of Jence's mistresses. Eating something made by somebody who actually knew what they were doing was a new experience in itself, and all of a sudden he began to understand Liz's complaints about his own.

"Pretty good at this," he nodded in appreciation.

"Thanks," Max replied timidly, lowering her eyes, "but... um... I'm kind of cheating?"

"Cheatin' how?"

"Well..."

"Sensory Uptake," Quint finished for her and all heads craned his way, "that's Max's power- a perfect memory which will never forget a thing she sees, hears, or reads." He turned to her. "When you say you're cheating...?

"I'm just, uh, repeating things. I mean, there's not much skill in accidentally getting something right once, then just repeating that accident."

"I dunno," Lamb countered, "you've still gotta get it right the first time. Reckon that takes skill."

Max smiled slightly. "I'm not sure, but... thank you."

Lamb shrugged again. "It's good. But," he turned to face Liz again, "said you didn't tell me why you was runnin'. Seein' as how I just about died 'cos of you, ain't it about time you told me the truth?"

Liz's face fell, humour replaced by remorse. "I know. I'm sorry. I should have told you the truth from the beginning, but-"

"Next time you say those words I'm gonna sew your mouth shut."

Liz stopped. "Huh? What do you- oh, right, yes. Sorry a-"

"You really that stupid? 'Cos I-"

"Please, you two," Quint interjected, "no more arguing in my house."

Lamb scowled but said nothing. Liz paused for a second before continuing. "I didn't want to tell you because I wasn't sure how you'd react. I wasn't honestly sure how anybody would react. I mean, I haven't told anybody yet because-"

Lamb sighed. "D'you plan on tellin' me? Or just puttin' it off all day?"

Liz shook her head. "You're right. I'm getting off topic." She cleared her throat.

"I come from a family of servants. At the age of sixteen we're placed into the house of a minor aristocrat, from which point we live our lives taking care of their needs. It's not necessarily an easy life, but it's not a bad one either. Most of the time the houses we're placed into are just enough, and it's rare to end up in a bad one.

"Unfortunately, I was one of the unlucky few. The master of my house was a cruel man, and spiteful. Often he'd hit us, or beat us, which while unpleasant was bearable; but he was also a drunk. One night he came home, and he struck me with his ring on." Her face twisted slightly in remembered hate. "He tore most of my cheek open. Another servant had to sew it shut for me. By the next morning it was much better, and the master decided he must have imagined the severity. But then the day after it was practically gone.

"He called me a witch," she went on, only the slightest hint of brittleness betraying her emotion, "and he blamed all his misfortunes on me. Suddenly it was my fault he was a joke, my fault he'd squandered all his family's fortunes, my fault nobody wished to associate with him. He grew paranoid that I was scheming behind his back, and he beat me more and more often; but every time the injuries healed, he'd only become more and more hysterical.

"In the end he sent word to the Wardens. Wanting to investigate my abilities, they came and took me away to their citadel. To start with they were friendly enough. They treated me like a princess, gave me my own room and wardrobe, let me eat whatever I wanted; but they always kept asking the same questions- questions I didn't know the answers to. How did I heal myself? And, more importantly, could I heal others in the same way?"

The girl sighed. "I think that in the beginning, they really did want to be fair. But when weeks went by and they made no progress at all, I guess they just got impatient. If I could somehow be used as a weapon, to heal their own soldiers, I would've given them an enormous advantage. When I failed to answer their questions they stopped being gentle. They took away my privileges and locked me in a cell, accused me of treason and refusal to cooperate. They told me that as soon as I answered their questions, they'd let me go back to how I was before. But," she shook her head, "of course I couldn't answer them. How was I supposed to give an answer I didn't even know?

"After that, things only got worse. They started to threaten me, then they started to hit me, and eventually they turned to whips and knives. It was early winter when they put me there, so I suppose I must have been there a few months before escaping. They just refused to believe that I didn't know.

"After a while they probably realised that I didn't know anything, but they didn't stop in any way. The Wardens they gave me to changed over time, to ones who cared more about the process than the result. The higher ups might even have forgotten I existed, for all I know.

"While I was down there, I heard scraps of what was going on outside. The Wardens were in turmoil about something, something to do with the 'second half'." Quint shifted uncomfortably, eyes widening slightly, but he nodded at her to continue. "Apparently they were hunting the four, and running out of time. I didn't understand what that meant back then, but," she paused, looking at Lamb, "I explained to you about the Warden who helped me escape?" The boy nodded.

"When he set me free, it wasn't just out of mercy. It was because he had a task for me. You're all aware of the Prophecy of the Four?" The others affirmed. "Well, it turns out there's a second part."

"Indeed," Quint agreed.

Lamb nodded. "Yup."

The room went silent. Conversation ground to a halt. Liz sat back, stunned. "You... you knew about that?"

"I am a keeper of knowledge," Quint said, "There's very little that I'm not aware of."

"But," Liz turned to Lamb, "what about you? How could somebody like you know about that?"

"I..." Lamb scratched his head, searching for a believable excuse, "heard someone talkin' 'bout it at the Boar's Head?"

Quint glared suspiciously at him. "You're telling me one of your patrons just happened to mention a national secret to you?"

Lamb cocked his head. "D'you believe me if I said yes?"

The man turned away. "I find it somehow doubtful. But regardless, Elizabeth, continue."

The girl nodded. "I didn't really expect you to know about it. I thought I'd have to explain the whole end-of-the-world thing."

"End of a world," Max broke in quietly. "Not the. A."

"Yes, that. Anyway, the Warden told me that the time of the apocalypse was dawning, and that soon the final confrontation will come to pass. He said that the Wardens were trying to collect the Four Elements- that they believed if the Elements didn't fight the demons, the prophecy wouldn't come to pass and the world wouldn't end. He told me that he disagreed with them, but that because of his position he had no way of resisting. He didn't just set me free; he sent me off with a mission. My role is to unite the Four Elements once more."

"An' that's why you didn't tell me," Lamb muttered, "'cos you thought you'd scare me if you said you were on a quest to save the world?"

"Well," Liz thought about it, "yes. I didn't know how you'd react. For all I knew you'd just turn me back over to the authorities."

"So," Quint frowned, "you were sent by a rebellious faction on a quest to save the world, whilst the Wardens unwittingly doom it through their own obstinacy?"

"You don't believe me?"

The man snorted. "Hardly. It sounds like exactly the kind of thing those pig-headed idiots would do. I'm just considering the coincidence. I think we just might be fated."

"Fated?"

"On a journey to escape the Wardens and reunite the Four, you run into what might be the three people in all the realms best positioned to help you. Lamb and I with our strength and connections, Max with her knowledge- I refuse to believe this is mere serendipity. You do, I assume, intend to continue with your quest?"

"Of course. Shutting myself away now would be no different from destroying the world myself."

"In that case I might make a suggestion. Max and I can see what we can do, but in the mean time..."

Three pairs of eyes turned to face Lamb, and he found the colour draining from his face. "In the mean time?"

"In the mean time, I see a strong young boy with a lot of time on his hands, and nothing to do with it."

"Hold on a minute," Lamb waved the suggestion away, "I'm only here-"

"Why don't the two of you go save the world together?"


	9. Decisions

"No way in hell," Lamb pounded his fist into the table for emphasis, making sure this time not to break it in the process.

"And why not," Quint asked, "don't you feel it your duty to help save the world?"

"Ain't no duty of mine. Wouldn'tve even known 'bout it if not for her," he pointed accusatorily at Liz.

"But you do know about it. You can't forget what you know now simply because you don't like it."

"Just about died once already. I ain't doin' it again."

"So what, you're too scared to do anything?"

"'Course I'm scared. The hell am I supposed to be? I got lucky once, an' I sure as hell ain't testin' my luck again."

The man frowned. "And you would sacrifice the world out of cowardice? You'd sacrifice your own friend?"

Lamb's mouth tightened. "I'm no coward- just not stupid. 'Sides, who said I'd let Liz go?"

Liz glanced up at that. "You think you have the right to stop me?"

"Don't know nothing 'bout rights. But a stupid girl like you, you'd just get yourself caught again. Or killed."

"You can't stop me."

"I can't let you."

The girl rose to her feet. "You'd tell me what I can and can't do? You'd stop me with force if necessary? Then how are you any different from the Wardens? Or from my old master?"

 _How are you any different? You're just another brute, hungry for blood. Wouldn't it be better if you went with her, just to give you enemies to fight?_

"Shut up!" Lamb snapped. "Think I care? Maybe I'm just as bad. Maybe I'm worse. But I ain't lettin' nobody take you again, not now, not ever, an' if I have to lock you up to keep you safe then fine. 'Cos it'll still be better than whatever they do to you."

Liz stopped as his words sank in. Her anger melted away and her face softened. "Look, I understand you want to help me- and I'm grateful- but please; I need this. If I don't do this, I don't know how I'll live with myself. I have to go."

"Fine," he waved her away resentfully, "do it then. Throw your life away. But I ain't goin'."

"Lamb," she leaned down, forcing him to look her in the eye, "please. I need you with me. I don't know what I'll do if I have to go on my own again."

Lamb sighed, shoulders slumping. "You jus' don't get it. I want to go with you- course I do- but I can't. I just," he clenched his fist, fingernails digging into his palm, "can't. Can't do it."

"Why?" She clasped her hands around his, prising his fingers open. "What are you so scared of?"

"Fighting." He forced his eyes shut. "I done it once, an' I ain't never gonna forget it. It's gonna be with me for the rest of my life. I go back to it, I do it again, I might jus' beak."

"You probably won't even have to fight much anyway," Quint spoke up, "Once you find the first Element you can probably rely on them to look after you."

"Maybe. But you expect me to believe it'll be easy findin' them?"

"If you're that worried about having to fight," he said, "I'd be willing to work with you on that. I've taught plenty of people in the past."

"That's not the problem. Win or lose doesn't matter. I can't go into another fight against them."

"Then what _are_ you worried about? About dying? About being hurt? About losing face?"

Lamb choked out a laugh. "Really think I care 'bout that crap?"

"Then what?"

"You really want to know?" He stood up. "Fine, then. It's myself. An' I ain't goin'." Then he turned on his heel, striding for a second time through the broken door and out into the peace and quiet beyond.

* * *

The next weeks passed them by in relative peace. Lamb and Elizabeth bickered, Quint broke them up, and Max remained impassive. The topic of Liz's quest was spoken of rarely, if at all, and Lamb made it very clear that his views on the matter weren't changing any time soon.

As the time passed, and Lamb's injuries began to heal, he found himself pushed into an annoying position. Being in better health, he'd been tasked with collecting and chopping the firewood; but because of his strength, he found that what would for most men have been a day's work took for him a few hours. And whilst the others knew about it, since he wasn't trusted with delicate tasks like helping in the library with Liz, there was only so much they could get him to do.

It wasn't a particularly bad time, Lamb felt- the food was good, he had decent companions when they were around, and Max's cooking was still the best he'd ever tasted- but it was boring. Quint's house was out in the middle of nowhere, maybe a dozen miles from the nearest village, and whilst that fact had kept them safe from the prying eyes of the authorities, it had also isolated them. For a boy like Lamb, who'd spent his whole life immersed in the tales, character and conversation of others, such enforced isolation was a prison all of its own. He found that, with little time-consuming work to occupy himself with, he had nothing to do but argue with his inner voice.

After almost a month of the process, and when his mind had been thoroughly numbed, he returned to the cottage one day to find Quint standing outside waiting for him.

Already on guard at the foreboding welcome, Lamb inclined his head in greeting. "Afternoon."

"Good afternoon."

"Somthin' happenin'?"

The man said nothing for a few seconds. "Everything's been organised now. Elizabeth is setting off next week."

"I'm not goin'."

"I didn't say you were." Another short pause. "Do you have a minute or two?"

"Ain't got nothing better to do."

"Very well." Without further ado he began walking away, leaving the house behind him, and Lamb had no choice but to follow.

A short time later he pulled to a halt and Lamb stopped behind him, taking a look around at his surroundings. A grassy meadow, still in the middle of nowhere, but this time a different nowhere- the cottage was out of sight. "What are we doing here?"

Quint turned to face him. "Are you aware that I used to work for the Wardens?"

Lamb's stomach plummeted, dropping through the ground beneath his feet. "You mean...?"

"I used to teach them. I trained them primarily in the use of magic, but also in armed and unarmed martial arts. This was maybe a decade ago, when I was still a child."

Alarm bells began to ring inside the boy's head. _Clear space. Focus your senses. Be ready for anything._ He stepped back a few metres, eyes narrowing. "That why you dragged me here? To kill me where no-one would know?"

"If you would allow me to finish," the man muttered in exasperation, "it would be greatly appreciated. The Wardens employed me when I was young, and impressionable, and thought I was contributing towards the justice of this world. As I grew older I became more aware of the corruption within the organisation, and eventually left it to work on my library."

"An' that makes it fine?"

"No. It doesn't. But it means I'm no longer affiliated with them, and I'm not going to kill you like you somehow seem to believe. What I'm telling you is that I was the man who trained a lot of the current Wardens- in fact, the only reason I recognised the Hellcannon is because it's just a weaker adaptation of my Fiery Impact."

"Why're you tellin' me this? What's your point?"

"My point is that, because of my past affiliations with them, I'm not particularly comfortable making direct contact with the Wardens- but also that, because of my experience, I've worked with just about every type of warrior, and have all the knowledge required to train you."

"I don't want trainin'."

"Maybe. But I feel I need to understand you. Hit me."

"No. Already tol' you I ain't gonna."

"You misunderstand me. I'm not asking you as a friend. I'm ordering you as your teacher."

"You ain't my teacher."

"As of today, I am. Now come here and hit me."

"No."

The other man dropped into a stance, both legs bent, right leg behind and angled away from his body. He brought his fists up in front of him, half-clenched. "You're going to hit me, whether you want to or not."

Lamb's inner voice began screaming inside his head. _Back off! Get away from him! You're no match for somebody like him!_

"Last chance," Quint said, "and I'd much rather we do this the easy way. I don't want to have to hurt you."

"Yeah? Well you can get st-"

The slightest twitch of his foot and suddenly Quint stood before him, the ground between them covered in a heartbeat. Lamb's eyes widened in shock. He'd thought the Warden was fast, and that when he'd learned to spot the knight's attacks he'd gotten over missing people's movement- but this was something new entirely.

Quint snapped out with his right arm, striking the boy's solar plexus with an open palm. Lamb gasped, all the air driven from his lungs, flying backwards across the field.

He skidded to a stop, rolling back onto his feet, winded and clutching at his chest. "The hell!? What- the hell- you doin'?"

Quint frowned slightly. "I told you, didn't I? One way or another, you're going to hit me. Whatever else happens is down to you."

"I ain't- doin'- nothin'!"

"A shame." The man charged him again, and Lamb barely had time to bring his arms into a defence before he was hit with a side kick, the sole of Quint's shoe driving into him like a cannonball. Lamb founded himself lifted off his feet and flung through the air again, landing on his toes twenty yards away. He dug his feet into the ground, windmilling his arms to bring himself to a skidding halt. He had barely the time to congratulate himself on staying on his feet when the man appeared before him once more, simultaneously sweeping his legs and hammering an elbow into his upper ribcage.

The boy spun to the ground, eyes watering and world swimming. "You know," the words drifted through to him, "I'm not going to stop. Believe it or not I'm trying to help you, and we could do this much more smoothly if you just played along."

"You got- a funny way- of helping," Lamb choked out, stumbling to his feet again.

Quint raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" Then he stepped in, striking out with a fist at the boy's jawline.

Lamb stumbled backwards, dazed, barely remaining on his feet. He'd known Quint was good, but this was insane- in a contest of strength the man might even be on the same level as him. Had he been an ordinary boy those blows would have crippled, maybe even killed him.

 _Kill him,_ the voice practically shouted, _get him now. He's just toying with you. If you take him now, when he's off his guard, you can cut him down before he does anything more._

 _I can't! He's the guy who saved my life!_

 _And if you don't do something he'll be the guy who takes it too!_

Another fist struck him, splitting his lip open, the copper taste of blood heavy in his mouth. His eyes closed instinctively and he forced them open again, trying futilely to focus on the man in front of him.

 _Take him down! Cut off his movement then-_

A third punch flew his way, and this time he reacted to it, left hand flying out and stopping it with his palm. The man raised an eyebrow before Lamb closed his fist, locking Quint's in place.

 _Good. Now get his throat while he's incapacitated._

 _Screw you!_ Lamb closed his eyes furiously, _I'm not going-_

Another open palm struck him in the chin. He stumbled backwards, nearly biting his own tongue off, left hand releasing in shock.

"Come on," Quint seemed, to his disjointed mind, to taunt him, "get me! Or this will go on forever!"

"Go to hell," Lamb snarled through gritted teeth, "I ain't gonna. I ain't killin' anyone!"

"Killing? Who said anything about-"

 _Get him now! Rip his throat out while he's unguarded!_

"Screw you! I ain't doin' it!"

A fist hammered into his ribcage, then another, then another.

 _Do it now or you never will!_

"I'm not gonna!"

Another fist struck him in the side, driving any remaining oxygen from his body.

"Hit me!"

 _Kill him._

"Do it!"

 _Crush him._

"What are you waiting-!?"

"Leave me alone!" Lamb clutched his head in his hands, "You can all go to hell! You really want that? Fine!" He straightened, slapping the next punch aside and throwing all his power into his own.

The unexpected blow hit the warrior square in the face, snapping his head backwards and launching him like a stone from a catapult. Quint landed hard on the ground, rolling to a stop amidst a cloud of dust and dirt. He lifted himself painfully to his feet, fiddling with his bleeding nose. "Damn. That was a good one. I think you just might have-"

Lamb howled something inaudible, barrelling towards the other man, who took a step backwards in alarm. "Now hold on a se-"

Lamb swung out with another fist which Quint sideskipped, spinning round behind him and launching a punch into his kidney. The boy grunted in pain but reached for it, grasping hold of his wrist with a vicelike grip.

The man's eyes widened slightly, then Lamb lifted him up, swinging him above his head before slamming him like a flail towards the ground. Quint twisted in the air, landing on his feet and absorbing the impact with his legs. He caught hold of Lamb's wrist in return, executing the same manoeuvre and bringing the boy crashing into the earth.

He backed off a few steps, barely out of breath. "I think you're taking this a little too seriously."

Lamb jacknifed up to his feet, eyes blazing. "What? Think you can beat me like that? Think I'll just stand there an' take it?"

"You know that's not what I'm trying to do."

"You can't. I'll crush you. I'll crush you an' I'll rip your goddamn heart out!"

Quint backed off a little. "You'll what?"

The boy yelled, charging him again, and Quint dropped back into a stance. Lamb struck out with his fists once, twice, again and again, all of which the other man blocked with ease, steadily giving ground. Then Lamb spun round, lashing out with a turning kick towards his midsection.

Quint accepted the blow, absorbing the impact and using it to leap back a distance. "Alright," he waved his hands out, "that's enough. You can stop now."

Lamb shrugged the comment off, leering at the warrior. "Why? You scared?"

"I've achieved what I wanted to. Continuing this further would gain us nothing."

"Really? 'Cos I ain't even close to finished."

He closed the gap between them, lashing out with a hammer fist towards the man's jaw, which Quint deflected off his forearm. "If you don't back off now, I'm going to have to use force."

"Do it then", Lamb laughed, grabbing the man by the arm and throwing him across the meadow, following behind and striking him across the jaw, "if you think you can!"

Quint straightened, using a pushing kick to force the boy away and create a gap between them. "I'm giving you three seconds to stand down, or you'll leave me with no choice."

"Then do it! Stop talking and do it!"

"Three." The word was deliberate, calculated, holding little trace of emotion.

Lamb closed in again, kicking Quint in the stomach and sending him airborne once more. The man landed, sliding to a stop and not flinching in the slightest.

"Two."

Lamb leaped after him, springing through the air, all the fingers on his right hand stretched out like a knife. He snarled wordlessly, drawing it backwards and preparing to lash out with it.

 _The heart. Straight through his heart._

 _I know. I'm doing it._

In an echo of his first Warden encounter, time seemed to slow to a standstill. Lamb froze in the air, suspended in animation, eyes locked with his enemy. Quint stared at him, eyes expressing nothing more than a lingering regret. He brought his hands out to his sides, moving effortlessly through the frozen air.

"One."

Time crashed back into action. Lamb stabbed out with his hand, spearing towards the warrior's heart. Quint snapped his palms together, bringing them either side of Lamb's approaching hand.

"Thunder Drive."

Quint's hands fastened shut around Lamb's, stopping it short of its mark. There was the tiniest spark of yellow, and suddenly Lamb's entire body went rigid.

Every muscle in his body tensed, ripping themselves against each other. His head was filled with nothing but agony. More sparks arced before his eyes and he fell to the ground, writhing in pain. The other man released his grip and Lamb clutched his hand to his chest, screaming through his clenched teeth and waiting for the pain to ride itself out.

After a few seconds the worst of the shock passed, and Lamb raised his head wearily, climbing slowly to his feet, the smell of burning hair cloying in his nostrils. He took a deep breath. Quint stared at him. He stared back. A deathly silence resounded around the world. An eternity seemed to pass between them, before Lamb finally looked away, refusing to meet his eyes any longer.

"Well now you know."


	10. Creed

"Tell me," Quint waved his hand across the landscape before him, "what do you see?"

Lamb scowled, refusing to meet his questioning gaze. "Broken bridge. Chasm. It's where I fought the Warden. What am I meant to see?"

The man shrugged. "Nothing, really. Or everything. It all depends upon your perspective."

"Like what?"

"Well," the warrior deliberated for a moment, "every one of us views life from a different angle. When _you_ look around you have only eyes for the damage. To you, this is the place where you had your first life-or-death fight. It's the place where you very nearly died. The place where you suffered unimaginable pain. The place where you may well have killed a man. When you look around you see the scar the ravine carves through the earth, you see the broken stone of the shattered bridge, and the blood you watched it drink."

"Your point?"

"My perspective is different from yours. I don't see what is broken; only that which is whole. To me, this is the place where I saved a life. The place where I made two precious friends. The place where our fates became intertwined and it became our destiny to save the world. When I look around, I see all the beauty of the world gathered in one place.

"A perfect world holds no meaning. There is nothing to work towards, because there is nothing left to achieve. A perfect world is a world devoid of warmth, a world with no faith, no hope, no purpose. In my eyes, true beauty is found only in imperfection. This imperfection is nothing to be feared, but rather revered. There is no shame in admitting your faults; because only by doing so can they be overcome."

"That it? You bring me here to sell me some bull 'bout how everythin's all okay?"

"Tell me, Lamb, for what reason do you believe I rescued you on that day?"

The boy thought about it for a moment. "You don't like Wardens?"

"Wrong."

"You saw him attack a girl?"

"Wrong again."

"You would've saved either of us?"

"Exactly." The man smiled gently. "To me, all life is precious. I had no idea who you were, and I saved you regardless. It didn't matter to me why you were fighting, or what you had done to end up in that position, because in the face of death all sin is rendered meaningless. You could have been a murderer, a thief, a liar or rapist, and I would have rescued you anyway. Because while we live, no matter how dark things may appear, there is still hope to reach for. That is my faith; my creed."

"Easy for you to say."

"Is it?" Quint frowned slightly at the question. "Most of the Wardens alive today owe their skills to me. And as a teacher, the sins of my students fall directly onto my shoulders. With every sun that rises, I rise to the accusations of all those who've suffered because of me. People I don't even know, people I have never met, but who because of my actions no longer live. I face my mistakes, I feel the regret; and I move on. Because punishing myself achieves nothing, but standing tall, making a difference- that is how I repent."

"An' if I can't stop it? If I can't change anything?"

"Have you ever heard of the blood rage?" Lamb said nothing. "The blood rage. Something along the lines of 'seeing red'. In a fight, our baser instincts are drawn to the fore. Our desire to survive, coupled with our repressed desire to harm. If a man isn't careful, his desires begin to control him. He may do things, in the heat of the moment, which would horrify him at any other time. Normally this is all it would amount to, merely a clouding of judgement which all men must deal with sooner or later; but in especially rare individuals, it becomes something more.

"When a warrior sees red, their anger or hatred may be amplified, but they retain full control of their mind and body. The blood rage, on the other hand, is more akin to a temporary madness. They become obsessed, and there remains nothing in their mind but the desire to kill. They disconnect from conscience and reasoning, become immune to all but the most extreme fatigue and pain, and turn into nothing more than a tool for the absolute destruction of their enemy. It is for this reason that some of the more barbaric schools of combat revere it so much.

"The blood rage strikes different people in different ways. Some lucky ones lose all memory of their actions under its influence, while others remember everything down to the most minute of details. I've trained all kinds of fighters, Lamb, and I know all there is to know about it and its symptoms. The only two things that ever remain the same are that the victim cannot be blamed for their illness, and that, however difficult it may be, they may still cure themselves."

Lamb walked past him, sitting himself down at the edge of the cliff, legs dangling into the blackness. "'Cept this ain't the same."

"I never said it was." Quint walked over and sat beside him, gazing out at the gentle flames of the setting sun. He said nothing for a minute, allowing the peace of the moment to soak into him. "Who are they?"

"Who're who?"

"The person you were talking to. 'I ain't killin' anyone. You can all go to hell.' Both comments implied that there was a third person with us, unbeknownst to me."

Lamb inclined his head, trying to figure out the best way to explain it. "It was..." he groaned inside, realising tiredly there wasn't one, "myself. I've a voice. It speaks to me sometimes."

He sat back, waiting for the man to laugh at him, but all Quint did was hum thoughtfully to himself. "I see. And this voice; do they talk to you often? Are they talking to you now?"

They boy closed his eyes for a moment, the muffled sounds of angry swearing filtering through to him. "Yeah. But it's a lot quieter, some reason. That ain't happened before."

"Describe it to me."

"He's kind of..." Lamb caught himself, "you really don't think I'm a loony?"

Quint shook his head. "Priestesses commune with 'gods' when they dream. Seers converse with other beings in their visions. Telepaths can communicate mentally over great distances. To have a voice inside your head may be rare, but it's far from unique. Given the mystery surrounding your abilities, I find it perfectly plausible."

Lamb nodded gratefully. He'd never stopped to think about it like that. "He's annoying. Speaks in riddles. Cocky. Always tellin' me I'm some kinda freak. But he helps me fight, an' sometimes even tells me things."

"Things like what?"

"'Bout the prophecy. An' he used to predict bets, back at the tavern."

"Which were right?"

The boy smirked. "Always. Hours of fun."

"And when you fought me it was this voice who wanted you to kill? He's the reason you were so scared of fighting again?"

Lamb sighed heavily. "Sort of. Back when I was fightin' the Warden, I realised somethin'. It was fun. I was enjoyin' it. I'd never liked violence before, but suddenly I was able to throw myself against someone, an' I loved it; but it scared me. After that, my voice kept tellin' me the same thing, over and over. Says I was born to fight- that I exist now to destroy. An' I refuse to believe that."

"I understand," Quint spoke, "and I think I agree with him."

Lamb's head snapped round. "What?"

"I agree with him- you were born to fight. Inexplicable though they are, you have the gifts of a warrior. It would be a waste not to make use of them."

Lamb scowled. "I ain't nobody's attack dog."

"Do you know what makes a warrior, Lamb?" The boy didn't respond. "It's heart. Any idiot can pick up a sword, feel the weight and swing it. But only a warrior can truly understand that weight, know the meaning of drawing that blade, and swing it anyway."

"I don't get it."

"A thug on the street will pick a fight because he can; a warrior will fight because he must. What elevates a warrior beyond a mere brute is his creed- he has a set of ideals which he believes in, devotes himself to, lays his life upon. When I told you you had the gifts of a warrior, I wasn't referring merely to your physical prowess. What I meant was that you had the principles of one. You understand your strength, and your ability to destroy, but you refuse to abuse it. You know the temptation of violence, and yet you fight against it with all of your being. You don't want to fight because you don't want to hurt anyone. Every one of those is the mark of a warrior."

"I can't do it."

"But you can. You have no faith in your own will, and so you cannot muster the strength to resist. But you aren't a monster. No matter what that voice tells you, your powers don't exist to destroy; they exist to protect."

"Not if I can't control them."

"That's what I'm talking about. You're strong, Lamb, stronger than you know. And you're closer to overcoming your demons than you believe. All you need is a creed."

"It won't work."

"And nothing will if you give up before even attempting it. Is this how you want to spend your life; running from every adversary, hiding from every danger, all because you don't know if you can control yourself? Or do you want to break that barrier, become something more, find something greater than you ever imagined possible? Maybe you're right- maybe it won't work- but what will happen if it doesn't? Can it be any worse than this? Do you really have anything to lose?"

The boy picked up a stone, the size of his fist, and brought it out over the edge of the gap. He let it fall through his fingers, listening to the sound of it ricocheting against the bedrock below. Crack, it fell, crack, crack. Again and again. Minutes passed, and the sound faded away to nothingness, passing beyond hearing. He looked round. "What's yours?"

"My creed?" Quint smiled. "I've already told you. My creed is that everything has a right to life, that every sin can be repented, that every living thing in this world is sacred. As a warrior, my creed tells me that I must protect all life, wherever and whatever it may be."

"I see. Then... I swear..." Lamb closed his eyes, rooting through his memories, struggling to find something worth devoting his life to. Memories of Liz rose unbidden to his mind, the scars on her back, the pain behind her eyes when she recounted her tale. His jaw set. His eyes snapped open. "I swear that, so long as I breathe, I will devote my life to my friends. That never again will they be harmed whilst I remain to defend them. That I shall be the shield that protects them from danger, the armour that protects them from injury." He pressed onwards, mind a blur, words and philosophies he'd never even imagined filling his head with a mind all of their own, "I will be the hammer which punishes injustice. I will be the light which banishes evil. I will be the hero of the weak, the terror of the strong. That is my path," his mouth twisted into a determined grin, "my creed."

Quint whistled softly. "Amazing. Tell me, Lamb; do you believe in destiny?"

"Never thought much about it."

"Well I do. I believe that each and every one of us has one to receive. I believe there is a single moment in time, a tipping point where we make a choice to decide the rest of our lives- do we meet our fate, or do we turn our backs and run from it?" He offered a hand which the boy accepted, the two of them rising to their feet; and then he turned, leading them away from the recovering battlefield, setting sun clawing vainly at their backs. "And I believe you just made yours."

* * *

Seven days since Lamb's confrontation with Quint. Even after the passage of a week, he still couldn't fully comprehend what had happened. The words he'd spoken, deciding upon his creed- they hadn't been his own. He knew they were words belonging to some other and yet, having spoken them, they seemed so true. Never before had he felt so assured, so full of purpose, so proud to exist and determined to follow his path. His voice still whispered to him, but it was as though a great wall had been erected around his mind- he didn't even have to ignore the jabs; he simply didn't feel them.

He stood with the other three outside the door of the little cottage, going over the final preparations for their departure. He'd been pleasantly surprised to hear that both Max and Quint would be travelling with them for a while; Quint because he needed to gather some information, Max because, as she'd stated in an uncharacteristically confident manner, that she refused to be left behind. At the very least, it appeared he and Liz wouldn't be left to fend for themselves.

"We'll stick with you for most of the journey," Quint explained again to them again, "but Max and I are leaving you a few days before you reach the citadel. That way I still have time to work with you," he nodded towards Lamb, "but I won't have any awkward confrontations with the Wardens. Plus, if they knew I was assisting you I expect they'd be a lot faster to mobilise."

Lamb grunted an affirmation. He wasn't happy about having to tackle a fortress all on his own, but he could understand the reasoning behind it. And at least this way, he chuckled inwardly, he wouldn't have to share any of the glory.

"Deverish- the devils' Element- appears to be locked somewhere inside. While we aren't sure for certain where, if I know the Wardens it'll be in the deepest, darkest pit that they can throw him. You're looking at the bottom levels of the dungeons, which means it'll be hell to break into. The one advantage you have is that they won't expect you to attack them in their stronghold- it should be relatively unguarded, and if you don't cause any unnecessary commotion you might not even have to fight.

"After Deverish, you have Elendor of the elves. Again, we don't know where exactly she is, but according to Max she handed herself in peacefully once the Elements were outlawed. It's hard to tell with the elves, but if you're lucky you'll have a much easier time than with Deverish. Although, you'll probably need his backup to get over the border.

"The human and faerie Elements are still a bit of a mystery. There were no references to their current whereabouts in the library, and there'd be no point in you traipsing all over the faerie and human realms on the slight chance that you run into them. So that's where Max and I come in: we're going to go see some old friends, try and get some information on what actually happened to them. All things permitting, we should regroup with you at some point after you've found the first two, and we'll all take the rest together."

Lamb nodded to himself. "An' this citadel- how many Wardens we talkin' 'bout?"

"Probably somewhere around fifty. They only number a few hundred to begin with, and the majority are out looking for you two or keeping the peace with the other realms. That's why we need to move now, while they're off their guard."

"So we cock up, we're screwed. I can't fight half a hundred."

"Right now, you can't even fight one."

Lamb scowled in offense. "I done it before. An' I was half-dead then."

"Actually," Quint said forebodingly, "you haven't. We've been calling him a Warden for the sake of ease, but as it turns out the man you fought was nothing of the sort."

"He wasn't?"

"Hierarchy within the Wardens is based not upon birth, as with human nobility, but strength. At the top you have the Lord Warden. Below him you have the three High Wardens. Then you have the ordinary Wardens, and below them you have the trainees- the Squires. It would appear that the man you fought was a Squire."

Lamb's jaw practically dropped. His eyes blinked, slowly and repeatedly, as he struggled to digest the information. "You mean... that guy I fought... a real Warden'd be even stronger than that?"

"A mere Squire couldn't hold a candle to a real Warden. Just as an ordinary Warden pales in comparison to a High Warden. As for the Lord himself," Quint raised his hands helplessly, "if what people say is true he might even be on the level of an Element."

Lamb sank his head into his hands. "We're dead," he muttered, only half-joking, "we're all bloody dead."

"Which is why I told you you shouldn't attempt to fight them. Once you've rescued the devil, things will become more straightforward, but until then your best bet lies in remaining hidden. It's a shame- with the right training, you might even be nearly as good as a High Warden; but I have neither the time nor the resources to properly spend on you. It will be a little dangerous, but do you object to a fast track while we travel?"

"I told you." Lamb glanced over at Liz, who smiled encouragingly at him. She still had no idea why he'd been so reluctant to go, or what had eventually changed his mind, but she'd been overjoyed to hear of his change of heart- which had in turn lifted his. "My creed. I ain't backin' down."

"Then it's settled," Quint turned away, adjusting the bastard sword he'd sheathed on his hip, "that's the plan. We find the Elements, we beat the Wardens, and then we all go on to save the world. Nothing simpler."

Lamb smiled to himself. He took one last look around- the cottage, the pastures, the rolling hills and the forest in the distance. The place he'd come to call home. The people he'd come to think of as friends. Into the jaws of death? He adjusted his statue, roped over his shoulders like a rucksack. That didn't matter anymore. This time he was going to face down his demons, and he was going to defeat them, and he was going to save the world doing so.

 _Because I am the light in the darkness._

 _I am the hammer of justice._


End file.
